Back aboard the train, all was quiet except for a porter cleaning the spittoons. “Excuse me, has anyone else reboarded the train?”
“I just started. No one here but me.”
“Thanks.” Nash reached under the sofa he and Ellen shared, unlaced his satchel, and reached in. No evidence of the stone’s rough exterior touched his fingertips. His heart hammering, he raced off the train. Ellen rushed to his side, her brows lifted in query. At his nod, she sighed.
Clifford and Stella came over at his beckoning. Nash tipped his head. “Walk this way?”
“Sure.” Clifford’s shoulders tensed.
Stella’s fingers twisted at her waist. “It does us all good to stretch our legs—”
“I noticed you two stayed on the train. Now my quartz is missing, just like Mrs. Ridley’s necklace.” Nash stopped walking, bringing them all to a halt. “You know anything about that?”
“Not at all.” Stella was a lousy actress. Her gaze darted left, and her tone held a forced lightness.
“Sorry to hear it’s missing, Nash, but maybe you shouldn’t have flaunted it like that.” Clifford’s smile seemed strained.
“Enough.” Nash’s arms folded. “The bank robberies in New York? The newspapers said the duo would board a train three days’ back. The Express is perfect for someone hurrying out of town. The female robber has a penchant for other folks’ jewelry, and Ellen and I have both seen enough to make us more than suspicious. So should we handle this with local law enforcement, or should Ellen march back to the depot and telegraph New York?”
Stella teared up.
“If you do that, it’ll ruin everything.” Clifford stiffened, shifting to block Ellen.
If he dared touch her, he’d be in a world of hurt. Nash’s arms tensed.
“It isn’t what you think,” Stella whispered.
“Stella.” Clifford glared at his wife.
“What are we to think?” Ellen’s brow furrowed. “You’re in everyone’s bags. Are you even newlyweds?”
Stella’s chest heaved. “We’re on official business for Pinkerton.”
“Pinkerton agents?” Nash exchanged looks with Ellen.
“Not Stella. Just me.” Clifford ran a hand through his hair. “And Stella, you can’t tell everyone—”
“They aren’t who you’re looking for, Cliff. They just met. Nash’s hair is too long.”
Still, Clifford scowled. “Doesn’t matter. This is my job, Stella.”
Nash held up a hand. “So you’re investigating what?”
“The bank robberies. We learned the criminals were getting on the Express, not just any train—we kept that detail from the papers. I had to act fast.” Clifford sighed and pulled papers from his vest pocket. Nash and Ellen read together. Looked legitimate. Nash passed them back.
“He couldn’t come on a honeymoon train without a wife.” Stella’s chin tilted a notch. “We’re not newlyweds, but I wanted to come, though I’ve been more hindrance than help. It’s not like it’s my nature to search ladies’ bags.”
Clifford’s expression softened. “You didn’t have to do that. All you had to do was be here.”
“I’m so weary of you being gone.” Tears streaked her cheeks. She took Ellen’s lacy handkerchief.
It all made sense now. The tension. The snooping. Even Stella’s sadness over Gabe, if she’d had no children of her own.
None of them moved when the train whistle blasted.
“We’ll keep quiet.” Nash nudged Ellen with his shoulder.
Clifford nodded his thanks. “But we’re no closer to discovering their identities. Tomorrow afternoon, we’ll be in San Francisco.”
Nash watched the folks reboarding the train. Which pair was responsible? If they didn’t figure it out soon—well, God would see justice done. But Nash would like to have a hand in it.
“We’ll do what we can with the time we have left.” Ellen took Stella’s free hand. “In the meantime, you can help us with another mystery. It’s about Gabe.”
Nash and Clifford followed the ladies as Ellen enlightened them to the probability Gabe was taken from his mother. Onboard, the men congregated in the lounge, but after crossing into Utah, with eight hundred miles to go before Sacramento, Nash returned to the hotel car.
Ellen tucked a coat over a sleeping Gabe, a soft smile on her face. “Ellen?”
She spun. “I didn’t expect to see—I mean, you learned something?”
“No.” He memorized her features. “I thought maybe we could sit together. Watch the scenery.”
Not talk about the robbers. Or anything at all. Just look out at the red cliffs and stone spires.
She seemed to read it in his eyes. After a moment, she nodded. “I’d like that.”
They sat together through the sagebrush of Utah, past a Shoshone village, into Nevada. They pointed out things to Gabe and read to him when he woke up from his nap. Chatted with Primrose and Stella and whoever came by. Watched for anyone pokinginto others’ bags. Ate their lukewarm supper. But they didn’t part company. They sat in the dining area until midnight when the resounding blast of cannon outside announced they’d crossed yet another state line.
Nash took her hand. “Welcome to California.”
Ellen’s delicate fingers curled around his. “We’re almost to the end.”
He let go of her hand. It felt like he was letting go forever. But what else could he do? She had a job waiting for her. So did he, and a life she didn’t fit into. “Tomorrow’s a big day. You should get some sleep.”
She nodded. “You, too.” But as she reached the threshold, she looked back over her shoulder. “Welcome home.”
It was home. The place where he felt most himself. But he’d never imagined he’d feel so sad to have reached the end of the line.
Chapter Seven
Ellen gasped, stumbling in the aisle of the hotel car as the train took a curve too fast for her liking. It felt as if they’d flip onto their sides.
I won’t miss this come morning. Though if she slept, it would be a miracle. They’d reach Sacramento before breakfast, where the law would speak to Mr. Prewett about him being Mr. Price.
And then there was Nash and never seeing him again. Even if her brain wasn’t spinning, the way the train rattled and shook she’d probably roll all over her mattress—
Gabe spilled through the curtains of his berth into the aisle.
She had him in her arms before he fully woke. “It’s all right, dear. Just a tumble.”
“Mama?” Gabe’s eyes blinked, and then filled with tears. “Mama!”
“Shh, now.” Oh, the lad was heavy. Especially now that he was fighting her. “Mr. Prewett?”
Heads poked out from berth curtains. At last, Mr. Prewett’s did, too. But Gabe was sobbing so hard for his mother, Ellen couldn’t hear Mr. Prewett’s mumblings.
“Wanna go home to Mama.” Gabe clung to her neck. “Take me home.”
Instead she carried Gabe to the dining car, away from the passengers who tried to sleep, stumbling as she went. “Follow me, Mr. Prewett.”
Nash was still where she’d left him, staring out the window. At her entrance, he jumped to his feet and took the thrashing boy from her arms.
“Fell out of bed. Wants his mother.”
“So I hear.” Nash bounced the boy on his lap.
“Wanna go home,” Gabe cried.
“Home is California, Son.” Mr. Prewett touched Gabe’s head. “Now quiet down and leave these folks in peace.”
Ellen’s foot thumped the floor. “Where is his mother, Mr. Prewett?”
He blinked like a fish. “I say.”
“That’s all?” Ellen’s vision reddened. “You say? Say the truth, I implore you.”
“New York.” Gabe’s voice was muffled against Nash’s neck. Ellen reached for the boy again, overcome by the need to protect him.
Nash’s eyes blazed into Mr. Prewett. “Time to come clean, Price. That’s your name, isn’t it?”
&nbs
p; “Gabriel Ar–fur Price,” Gabe answered instead. “We’re pretending it’s Prewett.”
“What do you say now?” Ellen shifted Gabe on her hip.
Mr. Prewett—Price, rather—didn’t speak. Instead he flopped onto a chair and burst into noisy sobs.
Nash shook his head. “Didn’t turn out quite like you wanted, did it?”
“I wanted her to be the one with no control for a change. It’s her money, her connections.” He sniffed. “I wanted to hurt her.”
“Gabe is the one who was hurt most of all.” Ellen shifted again so she could pull her spare hankie from her sleeve. Nash took it from her fingers and pressed it into Mr. Price’s hand.
“I know. I can’t—I’m sorry. I regret it.”
Nash leaned against a table. “Ellen figured it out and telegraphed east. There will be lawmen waiting for us in Sacramento who want to take the boy back to his mother. Maybe you should go back with him.”
“Is that what you want?” Ellen stroked Gabe’s hair. He didn’t respond, and a peek assured her he was close to sleep.
Mr. Price wadded her hankie in his fist. “I was so angry, but I want to be a family again.”
“I hope you’ll set things right.”
Mr. Price nodded, then stood and reached for his boy. “I’d like to take him back to bed now. My wife may not let me back in the house, so I’d best take advantage of tonight and hold him close.”
“Wise course. See you in the morning, then.” Nash’s blue eyes, gray in the dim, fixed on her. “You, too, Ellen.”
Oh. Was he angry she’d tipped their hand? “I hope he doesn’t run tomorrow.”
“Where can he go? Men will be waiting at the depot, and it’s not like he can jump off the moving train before that.”
“I jumped on.” She smiled. “But you pulled me.”
He smiled, too. “So I did.”
She wanted to stay, but he didn’t indicate that he wanted her to, so she nodded and trod off to bed. The hotel car was dark and quiet again.
It wasn’t until Ellen was curled on her berth that she realized her curtain had been wide open.
A pink-and-coral sunrise illumined the lounge car. Almost time. Nash stretched his legs and stood, but it was his arms that ached the most this morning. Not from holding Gabe last night, but for lack of something to hold.
He’d never thought he’d feel this way again, and the good Lord knew Nash never wanted to. Caring about someone—like this—brought pain and loss.
But it also brought warmth. Fun. Humor and light. Companionship and—
Nash shook his head, as if it would shake those thoughts out through his ears in the process. Ellen was starting a new life. He shouldn’t interfere with it, even if he knew his own mind. God help me, I don’t know what to do.
Sure he did. For starters, he had the Prices to deal with. And another matter. The puzzle of the bank robbers had played through his brain all night, while he’d stayed awake. It helped distract him from the realization that dawned with the sun, that Nash might want a roof over his head again. And other things. Like a family.
As if conjured by his thoughts, Ellen stood in the dining area. She wore her dress thecolor of grape jelly and a tentative smile. “Good morning.”
“Morning.”
By unspoken agreement, they stepped to a southeast-facing window. The pink clouds had dispersed, and the sky looked clear blue as turquoise. He’d miss this, just being with her. Talking. Not talking. Just being.
After a while, she sighed. “We’re almost there.”
“You nervous?” He stroked her upper arm.
“For Gabe? No. He’ll be on his way home.”
“About you. Starting a new job tomorrow.”
“It’s an adventure, isn’t it?” Her face held anxious tension despite her smile. “I’m sorry we didn’t recover your quartz, though. And I—I wasn’t going to tell you, but my mother’s cameo is gone.”
His hand fell. “I’m sorry.” Learning of her loss felt far worse than losing his quartz.
“Sacramento,” the conductor called from the doorway. “Brief stop before breakfast.”
“Let’s go.” Ellen squared her shoulders. “I expect most folks are still sleeping, but the Prices were up when I left the palace car.”
Her prediction proved wrong. The passengers milled about the aisle. “Can’t wait to get off this train.” Lincoln mock-punched Nash’s arm.
“Three hours to the ferry, and we’ll be in San Francisco at last.” Mrs. Ridley patted the arm of her strawberry-haired friend.
“Ocean breeze and a solid bed.” Even Ridley looked jovial at the prospect of getting off the train.
“It’ll be wonderful, won’t it, darling?” Primrose reached to straighten Lincoln’s tie, revealing a bracelet dangling under the lace at her cuff. The piece of jewelry appeared so large it seemed it might slip off her hand. Like it wasn’t hers.
The only soul not jubilant was Jerome Price, who held Gabe close and nodded at Nash. “We’re ready.”
Two porters appeared. “Those gettin’ off the train in Sacramento, your bags, please?”
Nash hoisted his satchel over his shoulder while the Prices’ and Ellen’s valises were collected. A few ladies kissed Ellen on the cheek. “Happy honeymoon, Mr. and Mrs. Nash,” one called.
Ellen didn’t contradict her. “Thank you. Same to you.”
At the train’s lurching stop, the Howells got off with their small party. A group of five men waited on the depot—three lawmen and two men in string ties who identified themselves as lawyers for Magdalena Price.
“I’m ready to return home with my son,” Jerome Price said, hoisting Gabe into his arms. “It’s time to go see Mama again, and we won’t go away from her again. Neither of us.”
One of the lawyers took out a folder. “There’s the matter of the reward money offered by Mrs. Price. Miss Blanchard telegraphed, is that correct?”
“Gabe’s happiness is reward enough.” Ellen kissed the boy and wrote her name and address on a scrap of paper. “Let me know when you’re home.”
“I can’t write yet, remember?”
“I’ll help. I’m not leaving you or your mother again.” Mr. Price turned to go with the lawyers.
Nash held up his hand to the lawmen. “Wait a moment, sirs. If you could board the train with us, it’d just take a minute. I think there’s a matter you might be interested in.”
Clifford’s brows scrunched. “What is it, Nash?”
“Come on.” Nash pulled a porter aside with a quick message for the engineer. The train couldn’t move yet.
The hotel car was stifling after the fresher air of the depot, but this wouldn’t take long. The passengers had abandoned the palace car for the dining area, allowing porters to take down the beds and return them to sofas. Nash pointed at a berth. “One of your men may want to search this one for money and jewels stolen in the New York bank heists, but I think we’ll find what we’re looking for this way.”
Ellen was at his elbow. “What’s going on?”
“I’m getting your cameo back.”
In the dining car, Ridley looked up and groaned. “You’re back?”
“Miss us already?” Lincoln hoisted his cup.
“We’ll never make the speed record now.” Primrose toyed with her cuff.
“I don’t think it’s the speed record you’re concerned with.” Nash stopped at her side.
“That and getting off this stuffy train.” She laughed.
Clifford came alongside. “Nash? Are you sure?”
“Yep. She brought an awful lot of jewelry for such a short trip. Like she couldn’t leave it behind. I expect there’s more in her handbag as well as her luggage. And the money stolen from the banks in New York, too. Lincoln doesn’t know about interest; he’s no more a banker than I am. They’re the two you’re looking for, Clifford.”
“How dare you.” Lincoln tossed his napkin aside.
Primrose gripped her reticule and s
tood. “That’s it, Lincoln. Let’s get off the train here. I can’t bear to listen to this presumptuous, pompous man a minute longer.”
Ellen stood back to make way for her to pass, but failed to remove her foot from the aisle. Primrose stumbled over it. Nash caught her fall, but her reticule tipped, spilling coins, chains, a string of pearls, a cameo, and a chunk of quartz with a vein of gold in it.
Chapter Eight
With a puff of smoke and a long, loud whistle, the Honeymoon Express departed the station, leaving Stella, Nash, and Ellen on the depot while Clifford and the lawmen took the Deweys into custody. Ellen waved goodbye to the train.
“I cannot believe you tripped Primrose,” Stella said, almost chiding.
“I didn’t try, truly. I thought to block her a moment so I could think of a way to stop her.” This was the first time—and probably the last—her clumsiness would be to her credit.
Clifford jogged to join them. “Everything’s set. We’ll take them back East to stand trial. Found a few thousand dollars in their luggage. If it weren’t for the jewels, however, we couldn’t prove it was from the bank robberies.”
“Greed’s an odd thing.” Nash’s hair glinted gold in the sun. Ellen had never liked longer hair, but she liked his. And she started to understand a thing or two about greed. Right now, a voracious yearning flooded her veins—for Nash’s continued presence.
Was that greed? Or was it grief at never seeing him again? Maybe he’ll write, from his home beneath a tree. Ellen smiled, but her fingers tapped a prayer against her arm.
“Breakfast?” Nash offered. Ellen and the Howells agreed, and the meal was pleasant, if not tinged with the sad awareness they’d part ways. But they all agreed a hot meal of eggs and flapjacks was a nice change.
“We’ll be on a train again later today, though.” Clifford drained his coffee.
“With the Deweys to New York?”
“San Francisco first.” Clifford and Stella exchanged happy glances. “We won that meal at the Palace Hotel. We’re almost there, after all. Go there today, come back tomorrow. Like a second honeymoon. Stella deserves a holiday.”
Stella blushed. Ellen patted her friend’s hand.
The Rails to Love Romance Collection Page 39