Tempers were rising about that failure. Soon the train might not stop here ever again.
Mr. Court had barely had enough time to explain the situation from the train as it slowly rolled through the junction. He’d given them more milk for Barnum and Bailey and promised he’d update Robyn and the Peregrines about Gus’ whereabouts. And theirs too.
Outside, on the other side of the tracks, Ulysses and his cohorts continued their drinking in the caboose where they now played cards. Their distant voices sporadically punctured the junction’s moonlit stillness. Complaints outnumbered celebrations, which meant Ulysses was succeeding, as usual, at stacking most of the cards in his favor.
None of that mattered. Not when she and Brynmor had won one gamble and might win more if she bet boldly.
They’d fed the lambs and eaten their own tasty dinner that Brynmor had expertly assembled from the rations left behind by the station attendant. Now they faced the stove, sitting so close their shoulders almost touched as she pointed to each symbol on Oriole’s letter and explained what it meant. One day, she might not be able to read a letter to him. She needed him to have every means to help her sisters.
Oriole would not have supported her decision to share their language. Her standoffishness toward the Llewellyns had been as passionate and as unusual as Wren’s curiosity. Oriole had not fallen in love and then been shown a new life in Noelle and the junction. She was busy finding her own way.
Lark prayed her sisters were getting help and not hurt, but each time she read Oriole’s letter, both her hopes and her worries grew.
Have gone to look for Wren in the rangelands outside Denver. A woman of her small size and legendary quiet was seen with a band of gypsy traders. I might find her with them if you don’t find her at the shop.
Meet you, same place and hour, two days later.
Their new meeting day was tomorrow. The timing didn’t leave much room for maneuvering. With Mr. Court’s drive to keep his train on schedule and a bit of luck, it’d be enough. And if she could enlist Brynmor’s brothers’ help, she might stop Ulysses from following her and Brynmor to Mrs. Fitzpatrick’s music shop.
She wasn’t sure exactly how to stop him. She just knew she must.
After so many days searching, if he finally saw all three of them within his grasp, he’d do everything to hold on to them. Or at least to Oriole and Wren. He’d postulated before that if Lark were gone, his earnings might not be as high, but they’d be more easily gained.
Ulysses’ arrogance blinded him to his own vulnerability. She couldn’t let Oriole or Wren avenge her death and meet their own at the end of a hangman’s noose.
Brynmor gave her a sideways glance as if he heard her worries or maybe shared them. “What will he do when he discovers the letter is no longer in his pocket?”
She shrugged. “He’ll suspect I took it.”
“And then?” Brynmor scowled in the direction of the caboose.
The railcar having its own stove was a godsend. So was Brynmor amassing enough wood to deposit a generous bounty, or barricade depending on your perspective, at the foot of the car’s door. The men had warmth and whiskey. They also had money to lose, and Ulysses was busy taking it from them.
No one had a reason to disturb her and Brynmor until morning.
She shifted her seat to fully face him. When he didn’t do the same, she said, “We have one more night together.”
“And then?” he repeated as if he couldn’t stop thinking about tomorrow.
One night wasn’t enough, but it was all they might have. She leaned closer to him. “He’ll demand to know what the letter says or follow us and find out.”
Brynmor’s gaze fell to the letter he still held. “He’ll be itching for a fight.”
“Don’t even think about waging a private battle on tomorrow’s train.”
“What if that’s the only way to—”
“If we aren’t going to work together, then why did I bother to show you this letter?” She snatched it from his fingers and threw it into the stove’s flames.
Brynmor’s gaze finally locked on her, but he didn’t turn his body. The line of his shoulders grew even stiffer under his sheepskin coat. Why hadn’t he taken it off? Or even unbuttoned it?
“Are you planning on going somewhere?” she asked.
“No. Of course not.”
“Then why are you still wearing your coat?”
“I…” He pulled the sheepskin tighter around him. “I may need to bring in more wood.”
He didn’t need his coat for that. The woodpile was just outside the door, and the stove was so hot that sweat now beaded his brow.
She pressed her fisted hands flat against her knees. She didn’t want to fight with him. Especially not in their cabin where they’d shared so much in such a short time. “You’re hiding something from me.”
“It’s not what you think.” His frustrated sigh sent a frisson of longing through her body. “You know I always want to be with you—if you’re certain that’s what you want.”
“I want you beside me the entire time we’re on the train. Can you do that?”
He nodded. “We’ll stay together.”
“Together but still apart?” Her hands clenched into fists again. “Why did you return my kiss in full view of our audience, but now that we’re alone, you’ll barely look at me?”
“We rushed that. I’m not hurrying whatever comes next. I need to know you’re sure where this might lead.” He removed his coat as he turned to sit facing her and gestured to the tenting on his trousers. “I swore I’d never coerce you in any way.”
“And you haven’t. But you’ve tempted me. Many times. So my choice is certain.” She abandoned her bedroll. His lap made a much better seat. Warm and welcoming. Hard and hot. Her perfect home. Except for him propping his arms behind himself, still keeping his distance.
She tugged his shirt upward. He raised his arms enough to help her pull it over his head. So much of what she’d admired from afar now lay directly under her fingertips.
His rumbling sigh shook him and her. He fell like a tree. When she went with him and stretched out flat on top of him, his arms finally enveloped her.
A knock rapped on the back door.
“Ignore it,” she whispered against his lips. Her words were for herself as much as him.
His mouth claimed hers, and she couldn’t speak. He was done waiting and so was she. Her hands went to his trousers.
The door latch rattled as someone tried to open it. And failed. Both doors were barred from the inside, and nothing could make her open them.
She had her hands full. She’d found another way to encourage Brynmor to press even closer to her.
The knocking came again. Louder. More determined.
“Leave us alone,” Brynmor snarled. “There’s nothing for you here.”
The voice outside sounded apologetic. “I’m looking for Grandpa Gus.”
“Robyn!” They gasped his sister’s name as one.
They also scrambled to their feet together and raced toward the door. Brynmor donned his coat on the way. She ran a hasty hand over her dress as he fastened enough buttons to cover himself and flung open the door.
Robyn stood staring at a pair of snowshoes propped in the nearest snowbank. Even in profile and shadows, her pale skin looked rosy from the chill outside or from guessing what had been going on inside.
Despite the cold flooding through the open door, Lark felt her cheeks heat as well. She wasn’t one to blush with embarrassment or frustration, but she’d only recently achieved a truce with Robyn. It’d been more than nice to have her as a friend and not a foe.
“Sorry to intrude.” Robyn busied herself brushing the snow from her feet. “Especially when you were so generous to give me my own space in Noelle, but I had to—”
Brynmor yanked his sister inside and into a bear hug.
Robyn returned his embrace with equal enthusiasm, then chuckled as her gaze went in the directi
on of Gus’ snoring. “I hoped he’d be here, but I couldn’t be sure.”
The Llewellyn siblings had always been close, but she’d never seen them hug until this Christmas. Now they embraced every chance they got. Maybe they were making up for lost opportunities.
A lump rose in her throat along with a fierce yearning to wrap her arms around her sisters again. She copied Robyn’s recent actions and busied herself. She closed the door, barred it, and also sealed her lips so as not to disturb the reunion.
“What happened?” Brynmor muttered. “Didn’t Court tell you where Gus was?”
“I left before the train arrived.”
“I should’ve known. I should’ve—”
“Relax, Big Hill.” Robyn’s tone was teasing but also deeply admiring as she said her brother’s nickname. “You can’t do everything.”
“I could do more, Little Red, if I learned the telegraph. I didn’t expect to see you, or rather Max, until the next train from Noelle arrived. How did you get here so fast?”
“I took Birdie’s snowshoes and trimmed some time off the hike down the old wagon road.”
Lark’s jaw dropped as she blurted, “You walked here?”
Robyn was a true trailblazer.
Brynmor held his sister at arm’s-length so he could stare at her as well, but not in amazement or admiration. A muscle twitched in his clenched jaw.
Robyn shrugged as if her trek was no big deal. The maneuver got her out of Brynmor’s grasp. Or maybe he’d realized it was time to let go again. The return of his frown told her he wouldn’t be able to let go of his worries so easily.
“I see you’ve been busy.” Robyn circled the room, pacing more than inspecting their handiwork. “Caradoc had a long day’s work as well. So I left him sleeping in his stall and came as the crow flies.”
Caradoc was the Peregrines’ and Robyn’s trusty Clydesdale. Like many workhorses, he was dependable for both riding and hauling freight.
“Rob.” Every inch of Brynmor had hardened into the disapproving big brother. “You care for that horse’s wellbeing more than your own. Only the daft or the—”
“Desperate or the devil travel the wilderness after dusk.” Robyn finished his sentence without pause or effort.
How often had she been given that warning? Even Lark had overheard it more than once.
“This isn’t like what happened to Pa.” Robyn raised her palms placatingly. “And I usually agree with your advice but not this time.”
“You could’ve fallen off a cliff in the dark.”
“Have you seen how bright the moonlight is out there?” Robyn folded her arms.
Brynmor mirrored her pose. “Did it reach under the spruce canopy?”
Their disagreement ended in a glaring match. Even the voices in the caboose outside had ceased. The silence—ruffled only by Gus’ snoring—made her sigh in relief until she remembered every lull was temporary. How shrill would tomorrow’s strife be on the train or at the music shop?
She moved to stand beside Robyn. “Most journeys have challenges, even those during the day.”
Robyn shot her a grateful look. “And now I’ve found a new trail. We have more options for travel and visits.”
Brynmor’s shoulders sagged as he rubbed a hand across his brow. “Don’t tell Gus.”
“I won’t.” Robyn glanced in the direction of Gus’ still unbroken snoring. “I’m happy he slept through my arrival. He must’ve been tired after his adventure.”
“You must be too.” Lark went to their bedrolls and re-arranged them so there were now three.
Robyn helped her and so did Brynmor. Their alone time was over.
“After everything that went on this Christmas,” he said in a peeved tone, “you’d think everyone would be content to stay close to home until spring.”
“I couldn’t wait for the next train to find Gus.”
If Robyn couldn’t wait for trains, then why did she have to? Why couldn’t she blaze a trail straight through the wilderness to reach her sisters? Because she didn’t have snowshoes and wasn’t dressed like Robyn.
She contemplated Robyn’s work clothing with envy and then inspiration.
They were the same size. If she traded her red jacket and striped skirt for Robyn’s brown overcoat and trousers, she could travel more quickly and less conspicuously. Ulysses wouldn’t follow her.
“Don’t worry.” Robyn took a step back, misinterpreting Lark’s intense stare and sudden silence. “I’ll take Gus home on the next train to Noelle. Then everyone can stop fretting.”
Involving Brynmor and his brothers in her plans was one thing, but putting his sister in the middle of them? He worried the most about Robyn. She did the same with Wren.
She couldn’t let Ulysses follow Robyn and suffer his temper when he discovered he’d been duped. She’d search for spare clothing at the Denver office. If she found none of Robyn’s, she’d make do with whatever she did find. Even Brynmor’s much larger garments might work.
But what about him? How could she disguise him? Other than his brothers, extremely few men matched his size.
They’d promised to stay together. She’d told him she was certain about them. She had to find another way because if she went to the music shop alone, there might be no going anywhere together after that.
A person could only forgive so many betrayals.
Chapter 8
At the opposite end of the Denver-bound railcar, the door opened. Without looking in their direction, Ulysses claimed the first empty seat, which put him across the aisle from two lean and hungry-looking men. None of them said a word.
Their silent disinterest agitated Brynmor as much as the busybodies’ whispering from two days ago.
Across the aisle from him, Lark was once again tight-lipped. After checking the locomotive and wood car for stowaways, they’d sat with their backs against the wall closest to that car, so no one would sneak up behind them. Directly opposite him and Lark were Gus and Robyn. All four of them sat as close as possible to the aisle and the door behind his right shoulder where they could barricade themselves if need be.
All of their challenges resided in this passenger car or had to enter it to reach them.
At the end was the caboose with the bigwig and his cronies and Caleb, who was addressing the many complaints they’d made upon rejoining the train. In the middle, a coach with unknown travelers.
The engine’s full head of steam rocked their car and everyone on it, but not Lark’s gaze. She stared straight at Ulysses.
“Remember what we agreed upon,” Brynmor said.
She nodded. “Don’t let him get close to you. He still has his whip, and he may have acquired another revolver.”
“Together we will defeat him.” His sister’s smile was confident. Her faith warmed and worried him.
He’d told Robyn everything Ulysses had done. But when he’d asked her to wait at the junction and take Gus on the next train to Noelle, she’d announced her new plan.
“We stay together and fight in pairs.” Robyn raised an eyebrow as if defying him to contradict her. “You and Lark. Me and Bon-papa.”
Brynmor sighed. His sister knew when and where to turn the conversation. Just enough to make him think her way would work. That it might have even been his idea.
“I gotta mean kick,” Gus said. “Strong as a mule, I am.” He also had his hands full, carrying both Barnum and Bailey. A task he’d insisted upon.
Robyn’s hands were free. She’d deliberately and very carefully strapped her snowshoes to her back. Lark’s hands were fisted on her lap. The frown on her brow mirrored the one tormenting his.
Changing her mind once it was set would be like trying to roll a boulder up a mountain. Possible. But it’d take a helluva lot of time and effort. The same was true for Robyn and Gus.
Ulysses finally said something to the men beside him. A very brief something that, at this distance, couldn’t be heard.
“Do you know them?” he asked Lark.
“No, but he must.” Her gaze remained on Ulysses. “Otherwise he’d be talking nonstop, trying to recruit them for one purpose or another.”
Something thumped the roof above him. The sound repeated. Like a footstep.
“He’s got men climbing over.” Lark spun to face the door behind them.
Brynmor jumped into the aisle before she could. The door burst open. A frost-covered man leapt through, brandishing a rope as if to lasso him and—
“Tie him up ’n throw him under the wheels.” Ulysses’ voice roared down the railcar along with the pounding footsteps of the men who’d help carry out his order. “Then bring me the girl.”
No matter what happened to him, he couldn’t let them reach Lark or Robyn or Gus.
The rope grazed his head as he ducked. He seized the man’s collar and jerked down. Straight toward him as he rose up. His forehead crunched his adversary’s nose. Blood flew. So did the man. Backwards out the door. He went with him, charging into him like a ram.
A blur of icy white whipped by on either side. Only ending when they crashed into the wood box on the other side of the landing linking the cars.
Above the racket of wheels clattering and wind howling, the door banged shut behind him. Lark, Robyn, and Gus had barricaded themselves outside with him. In a precariously small space. Too close to the man he wrestled.
Brynmor wound up to headbutt his opponent again.
A rope flashed over his head. The cord circled his neck, squeezed tight, and yanked him backward. Against his ear, someone’s breath puffed, fast and hot as an engine’s furnace. Ulysses’ men were fighting in pairs as well.
He had to break free before Lark or Robyn joined the fray.
He slammed his elbow repeatedly into his attacker’s side. He also staggered like a drunk as his lungs screamed for air. His knees hit metal. Through a wave of starbursts obscuring his view he groped along the floor for a weapon. His fingertips scratched wood.
A Bride For Brynmor (Songbird Junction Book 1) Page 8