A Texan's Honor

by Shelley Gray

  Far more striking than any of that was the woman who greeted them. Her blond hair shone like spun gold. Her blue eyes sparkled behind dark eyelashes. And Jamie was sure she'd never seen a day dress as beautiful as the peacock blue silk she was wearing.

  "Sam Edison? What a delightful surprise," she said as she held out one slim, smooth hand.

  "Rebecca. It's a pleasure. May I present Miss Jamilyn Ellis? She's been my traveling companion for the past two days. Jamie, this is Mrs. Rebecca Bergoren, proprietress of the Trumpeter Inn."

  Jamie smiled politely as she felt herself being examined by the statuesque woman. "How do you do, ma'am?"

  "Very well, thank you." She smiled, then turned to Mr. Edison, correctly assuming that he had all her answers. "You need some rooms this evening?"

  "We do."

  "We happen to have one room available. Will that do?"

  "It will not. Please let Jamie have it though. I'll sleep on the couch in the parlor."

  "I couldn't let you do that, Mr. Edison," Jamie said. Turning to Rebecca, she said, "Do you happen to have any servants' rooms available? I would be perfectly happy there."

  "Servants?" With one eyebrow arched, Rebecca glanced Sam's way.

  But Jamie wasn't ready to make the poor man do more for her than he already had. "Mrs. Bergoren, Mr. Edison has been very kind to escort me to Kansas City, but I find myself in need of employment. I'd be happy to work off my room and board here, if it would be at all possible."

  "Doing what?"

  "Just about anything. I can cook. Wash dishes. Do laundry."

  The lady glanced toward Mr. Edison again. "Sam?"

  "I can vouch for her character, though I admit to never having seen her cook or clean. If you could give her a chance, I'd be obliged."

  The innkeeper looked at Jamie again.

  Feeling somewhat like a horse at market, Jamie pulled her shoulders back and stood as straight and tall as her petite size would allow her. There was no shame in working or earning her keep. And though her aunts thought far differently, she was beginning to realize that she had nothing to be ashamed of. She'd done the best she could her whole life and she was still standing.

  From her point of view, that said a lot.

  "Jamie, I might call myself crazy in the morning, but today I'm in the mood to give you a try. You've got just enough gumption to spark my interest. Stay here a minute while I walk Sam to his room. Then you and I will get acquainted."

  She'd done it! She'd found herself a job.

  Mr. Edison shook his head before he followed Rebecca up the carved staircase. "You sure about this, dear? Working here is not the same as being a guest. I'm afraid the work will not be easy."

  "I'm not afraid of hard work."

  "But perhaps nothing too hard? If we put our heads together, I'm sure we could come up with an alternative."

  "There is no need for that. It's time I stood on my own two feet. If Mrs. Bergoren will give me a chance, that's enough."

  "All right then." He turned away and walked up the stairs without another look in her direction, making Jamie suddenly feel like he'd already crossed her from his mind.

  Until she heard his voice trickle down to her ears.

  "That girl is exceptional, Rebecca. She's been through an ordeal and has carried herself through it better than most men of my acquaintance."

  "You sound taken with her."

  "I'm taken with anyone of character," he said. "You should know that by now."

  Jamie couldn't help but smile. She didn't know what her future had in store for her, but she knew where she'd been. And that history had proved to her that she should never take anything for granted.

  And never to worry too much about the future.

  Right that minute, things in her life were better. She was safe, she had shelter, and she had a way of continuing her life.

  For now, that was more than enough.

  36

  Dodge City, Kansas, was dirty and smelled to high heaven, and Will McMillan was stuck there until further notice. Holding in his hand the latest telegram he had received, he was tempted to crumble it in disgust. But if the war and his experiences of working undercover for the U.S. Marshals had taught him anything, it was that that patience wasn't just a virtue—it was a necessary part of success in his life.

  Therefore, because Sam Edison wanted him to stay put a little longer, he would. Not because he liked the idea, but because it was his job.

  Across from him, Calvin leveraged his elbows on the counter. "You don't look too happy about your latest directives."

  It was too late to pretend Calvin wasn't completely entrenched in his business, so Will didn't even try. "I'm not."

  "What are you going to do then?"

  "What I'm supposed to do. I'm going to sit tight and wait."

  "You be wantin' supper? I could probably rustle something up if you really wanted me to."

  Leave it to Calvin to get back to business. "Nah. I'm going over to the restaurant in a bit." Will turned away before Calvin asked if he wanted company.

  Still not eager to sit in his empty room, he walked back out onto the main street and took a good look around. Not much had changed in the overgrown cow town since a few hours before.

  Which was too bad, really. He was itching for action. Shoot, he'd even pay good money to get involved in a decent fight if he could.

  "Uh-oh, I know that look and it ain't good," Scout said from a few feet away.

  Will jerked his head to his left. "Didn't see you there," he said, then cursed for even admitting such a thing.

  "I just got here. Don't worry, you haven't lost your touch." Scout stepped a little bit closer, then mirrored Will's stance, lazily propping his shoulders against the building behind him, looking straight ahead.

  "How are you doing? Thought you'd be long gone by now."

  Scout's lips thinned. After a pause, he shrugged. "I'm not ready to move on."

  "That girl's death hit you hard, I reckon."

  "It did." As if the words were perfectly painful to admit, Scout added, "I can't help that. She was too young to die."

  Will figured that was true at just about any age, but he kept the thought to himself. His friend was hurting. "I was going down the road and get some supper. Feel like joining me?"

  "Will that be a problem? We're on the opposite sides of the law now."

  Scout had a point. If Sam Edison had been in their midst, the man would've had Scout hog-tied six ways 'til Sunday by now. But, like Scout, he was having trouble moving on. Escorting Jamie to the train and out of his life had been one of the most difficult things he could recall doing in some time.

  "Here's the deal," he said finally. "I'm worn out and tired of second-guessing myself. As far as I know, you haven't killed a man since we've been in Dodge . . . have you?"

  "No, I have not." He had the gall to look offended. "Honestly, McMillan, is that what you think of me? As nothing more than a killer?"

  "At times, that's all you've been."

  "You don't know me. You don't know all of me."

  "Then be more than what I do know," Will bit out, his patience with the world at an end. "I rode by your side for more than a year. I've watched you kill people without blinking an eye. And what's more, I'm sure that's what you will be going back to."

  "I'm not going back to Walton."

  "Can't say that I blame you. But he wasn't the only reason you are the man you are. Somewhere along the way, you made your choice."

  "Maybe we don't all have choices."

  "Maybe we don't. But, if life has taught me anything, it's that sometimes you have more choices than you think."

  "So that's why you let Miss Jamilyn Ellis go on her way?" His voice was cold, full of derision.

  Scout's jibe hit Will hard, not because it was mean-spirited, but because it was true.

  Not that he was going to admit that. "What happened with her is none of your business."

  "That's where you're wrong, Marsh
al. You might have watched me slowly make my way to hell over the last two years, but I watched you with that woman. She got under your skin."

  He couldn't deny it. But knowing he'd been so transparent didn't sit easy. "It was better for her to go."

  "To go where? To live in a big small town town with a pair of elderly aunts she doesn't know?" He scoffed. "She's completely alone, and she looked at you like you hung the stars and the moon."

  "She did not—"

  "Oh, she did, and what's more, you knew it. Come on, Will. Do you think you're the only man in the world who doesn't lie to himself at times? She loved you, you felt the same, and you pushed her away. You'd rather she be alone or marry somebody else than be brave enough to risk your heart."

  "You're out of line."

  "Well, it wouldn't be the first time."

  Pushing away from the wall, Scout turned in the opposite direction. "Good-bye, McMillan. Just so you know, I'll be leaving tonight. With luck, you'll never see me again."

  "If you ever change . . . and you need something . . . find me."

  Scout stopped. "Do you mean that?"

  Will nodded. "I do. We may be different people, and at different places in our lives, but I think we have more in common than one might imagine. Besides, underneath all that black, I know you're a good man."

  But instead of accepting the compliment like Will had hoped, Scout laughed off the comment. "I'm telling you what, Marshal . . . there's some days I'm not sure at all how they let you into law enforcement. You've got the softest heart of any man I've known."

  And with that, he started walking down the sidewalk, his pace slow, his head straight ahead, his aura menacing. A pair of women stepped off the sidewalk, choosing to muddy their skirts instead of risk touching him.

  If Scout minded, Will would never know.

  Turning the opposite direction, Will headed toward Lucy's and finally allowed himself to review Scout's words about Jamilyn and admit that the man's words were true. He'd fallen in love with the girl, and he'd been too afraid to do anything about it.

  Showing that Scout Proffitt had nothing on him in cataloging sins.

  Rebecca Bergoran was a perfectionist and a natural-born leader. Jamie learned that after only a few hours in her company. The woman had never met a speck of dust that she could abide or a discarded newspaper on a table that she could ignore. Or a person she didn't think needed direction.

  Jamie, however, was especially good at keeping her opinions to herself, which most likely meant they would get along together just fine.

  "Everything has its place," Rebecca said for about the fifth time that morning as Jamie followed her around the roomy parlor on the main floor of the inn. "These rooms are our guests' first impressions and if there's dirt or debris around, it might be the only impression they get."

  "Yes, ma'am," Jamie said obediently. Again.

  When the tour stopped in the expansive dining room, Mrs. Bergoran pointed to the figurines in the china cabinet. "Dinner is in four hours. Before then, I want you to give everything in here a good rubbing."

  "All right."

  "Do you have any questions?"

  "No, ma'am."

  More quietly, Rebecca asked, "Were you able to sleep last night, dear?"

  Jamie's room was small and sparse. It was also deliciously warm and outfitted with a narrow bed that had been surprisingly comfortable. "Very well, ma'am. From the moment my head hit the pillow, I was asleep."

  "Good." Mrs. Bergoran paused, looking as if she wanted to say something more, but then she shook her head and left.

  Happy for the solitude, Jamie picked up a dust rag and opened the china cabinet doors. Carefully she pulled out the array of vases, glasses, and plates that were stacked on the top shelf. After wiping down the shelf, she began returning each item one by one, giving each one a careful swipe as she did so.

  She didn't mind the mindless task. Actually, she was grateful for it. Now that she wasn't so exhausted, and stunned by her aunts' behavior, her mind was eager to replay the events of the last few weeks.

  That couldn't be done, of course. If she'd learned anything in her twenty years, it was that pain and disappointment were a part of life. No good ever came from reliving it—or from doubting her past decisions.

  Picking up another plate, she rubbed it carefully.

  "Looks like you've got the hang of dusting just fine."

  Startled, Jamie almost dropped the piece of china. With shaking hands, she hastily set it down then turned. "Mr. Edison, you scared me half to death! I almost dropped that plate."

  "I noticed." His mustache twitched. "Sorry I startled you. I only wanted to tell you good-bye."

  Crossing the room, she held out her hand. "That was kind of you. Thank you for everything, Mr. Edison."

  He squeezed her hand for a fraction of a second before dropping it. "Do you think you'll be all right here?" He looked skeptical as he glanced around the room.

  "I hope I will. I mean, I'm sure I will be just fine."

  Looking ill at ease, he clasped his hands behind his back. "Jamilyn, I hope you won't take the wrong way what I'm about to say. But I think I'd be remiss if I didn't speak my mind."

  "Yes?"

  He cleared his throat before he began to talk, his voice uncharacteristically husky. "I've found, during my life, that unforeseen events can have a profound effect on a person's mental health." He glanced at her before continuing. "This kidnapping and abduction, if you remember nothing else, please know that it was not your fault."

  Her heart started beating faster. "Sir?"

  "Those men were killers, Jamilyn," he said slowly, with a somber, knowing look. "They would have killed you if you'd stayed. They had planned on it, you mark my words. Will McMillan's quick thinking saved you—as did your bravery."

  His praise embarrassed her. "Yes, sir."

  "What I'm trying to say is you've done nothing to be ashamed of. You survived, and any man will tell you that that's quite enough sometimes."

  Oh, the conversation was getting awkward. It was achingly apparent that Mr. Edison wasn't happy with the way his words were sounding. It was also terribly apparent there was little else he could say. He might have been the head of the Marshals, but he wasn't an orator by any stretch of the imagination.

  "Thank you, Mr. Edison. I'll remember your words."

  He brightened. "I'm glad." Then, fishing in a pocket, he pulled out a small piece of paper. "This is how to get a hold of me. If you contact me, I will do everything in my power to help you out."

  "That's very kind of you."

  "It would be an honor." His eyes watered slightly. "Goodbye, Miss Ellis. Jamie."

  Before she could say good-bye, he turned and left.

  After carefully placing the paper he left into a pocket, she walked slowly back to the china cabinet and took out another stack of dishes, afraid once again to dwell on the past.

  37

  The missive was short and to the point: MEET ME IN KANSAS CITY (STOP). TWO DAYS TIME (STOP). REGARDS, S.E. (STOP).

  Will folded it neatly and pocketed it while he walked to the station to see when the next train was leaving.

  Yes, that's what he needed to think about—the train schedule. He definitely shouldn't be thinking about hidden meanings behind the telegram.

  Mr. Edison had his next orders and there was little he could do about them. A man didn't question Sam Edison. Ever.

  But boy, if he'd ever had an urge to do so, now was the time. He didn't want to receive his next orders. He was bone tired. Tired of being on guard, tired of looking over his shoulder.

  Tired of most everything in his life.

  Not that it mattered.

  All that really mattered was that he did what was asked of him. And that, today, was to get on a train to Kansas City.

  Feeling wearier than ever, Will approached the ticket counter. "I need to get to Kansas City," he said simply.

  After peering at him through a dirty pane of glass, th
e ticket agent looked back down at a sheaf of papers in front of him. "You're in luck," he said with a toothy smile. "Next train is in two hours."

  "One ticket, then."

  After paying the money and accepting his stub, Will walked back to the hotel. It was time to move forward, even if he didn't want to. Mr. Edison was counting on him, and that was enough.

  After sending a telegram back to Edison, he bathed and ate. And then prepared to do his duty. Which, by his way of thinking, was about the only thing of value he had left in his life.

  He hoped it was enough to see him through the day.

  To his surprise, his boss was waiting for him when he finally reached Kansas City.

  "Sir," Will said, by way of greeting. "I didn't expect to see you here."

  "I don't imagine you did. Greeting trains isn't something I have much practice with, to tell you the truth."

  Will's heart sank. Whatever Sam had in mind for him must be terribly urgent. With a true sense of inevitability, he hoped it was a case far away from Missouri or Colorado. At least then the terrible memories that plagued him might have a chance of subsiding.

  Of course, the U.S. Marshals didn't take job requests. It wasn't their job to coddle the men who worked for them, and each one knew it.

  Will also knew that Sam had never been the type of man to put up with men pestering him with questions. So he held his tongue and followed the older man to a clean-looking supper house four blocks from the terminal.

  After they were seated, Sam leaned back against the cushion of his chair and gazed at Will directly. "I appreciate you coming out here so quickly."

  "I'm glad the train's schedule fit your timeline."

  "Coffee?" a waitress in a worn-looking calico dress asked.

  "Two," Sam said without looking at Will.

  After coffee was delivered, Will sat still and stoic, waiting for news. Any moment now, he would be getting his new directives. After that, it would be his job to accept the work with the danger and to plan accordingly. Within hours, he would be adopting a new identity and traveling again.