Cormac lengthened his stride, leaving her to follow. Behind the chow tent, a row of horses stood tied to a line. They lifted their dozing heads, snorting in surprise and pricking their ears forward.
“Can you ride?” he asked.
“Of course.” She bit back the reminder that her father had been a horse trainer. Irritated that Cormac had so easily avoided her question with one of his own, she scowled at him and made a sweeping gesture along her dress. “But I couldn’t possibly ride astride in a dress this fitted.”
“Then why wear it?”
Because the dress is doing its job. Again. If she couldn’t ride into town—for whatever reason, then Cormac couldn’t resume his work. Every minute she spent delaying his efforts to escort her back to New Chicago could coincide with a breakdown in construction that he’d be too busy to fix. She must keep him with her as long as possible. She straightened her shoulders, gathering her resolve. There was a silver lining to this setback.
So why hadn’t she thought to stay by his side sooner rather than trying to leave with the women? Because she was a spy, a deceiver, and a thief—although he hadn’t discovered this last part yet—and she didn’t want to hear how much of a disappointment she was to him. Unfortunately, that was sure to happen if he hung around her long enough. But so far he’d said little on the subject. Instead, he’d talked of her safety and the women’s. And right now he continued staring at her, demanding answers to questions she couldn’t answer truthfully.
“I wear the dress because it’s pretty.”
He cupped her cheek, making her skin flame under his hand. “You’d make my oldest shirt look breathtaking.”
The prospect of standing before him wearing one of his linen shirts, and only that, made her face burn even hotter. His gaze searched hers, while his thumb caressed her cheekbone. Her heart raced in her chest. He tugged her closer. She didn’t stop him.
Maybe her dress was doing its job a little too well. Could she use seduction to keep Cormac from his work? She’d never gone that far in all her years as a spy. But then she’d never been this attracted to a man before.
“I’m not your enemy,” he whispered. “I want to know you better. There are a hundred things I want to ask…starting with why you consider Stevens to be yours.”
Her lips parted in surprise. “Stevens?”
“You said I worked for your enemy.”
An unfortunate slip, that. But while Cormac was busy concentrating on Stevens, he wouldn’t be rooting out her real target. Besides, all of Parsons’ employees were by default her enemies. Their livelihoods would suffer significant setbacks when she financially ruined Parsons. Cormac and the McGrady Gang didn’t deserve that. Remorse made her bow her head.
“What happened to your brother?” Cormac asked.
His question hit her like a slap to the face. It took all of her resolve not to flinch. She wasn’t sure she succeeded. So she summoned a lie in the hopes of distracting him. “He died, and I hadn’t thought of him for years, not until I saw Fergal.”
“You can tell me the truth.”
“I am,” she snapped.
“I won’t tell Stevens that you were in his railcar. I won’t tell him any of your secrets.”
She pulled away from him and clutched her valise against her stomach. “Don’t say things you’ll regret later. Like promises you can’t keep.”
“I’ll protect you. I won’t see you hurt.” His voice was firm and resolute.
“Why? Because of your past? Who died because of you?”
He stared at her with wide eyes.
She immediately regretted her bluntness. She’d allowed her unsettling attraction to Cormac to not only make her foolish but shrewish. “I shouldn’t have asked that. I’m sorry.”
His gaze slid away from her, unfocused and distant. Then he shook his head as if dispelling ghosts. “You’re the most confusing woman I ever met.” He raked his free hand through his hair.
She wished she could do the same, but in a more soothing gesture.
“But I’ve promised to protect you and I will,” he said. “I’ve also promised to return you to town, which aids my first promise.” He handed back her camera, then unlashed a barrel from a small table that turned out to have wheels instead of legs.
“What’s that?” she asked.
“A wagon.” He rolled the barrel onto the ground.
She blinked, trying to reconcile the word with the object before her. All she saw was a three-foot square of wood supported between two wheels. “Looks more like a dog cart.”
“We use it to transport water to the men.” Cormac tied her camera where the barrel had been, leaving room in front. Then he chose a horse from the line and backed it into the traces of his so-called wagon. Speaking softly in Gaelic, he harnessed the fidgety mare with swift movements that spoke of a familiarity with such tasks.
He was a little more abrupt with her when he grabbed her round the waist and plopped her before her camera on the cart. The contraption wobbled horribly, the weathered wood creaking. It reminded her of New Chicago’s ramshackle train station.
“I wager we’ll part company with a wheel before we’re even halfway to town.” She suppressed a smile.
Cormac stared at her for a long moment. Then he climbed up beside her. His thigh settled against hers, solid and unmovable, and inappropriately intimate. He didn’t move away and give her space, although if he’d tried, their narrow seat might not have allowed it. He didn’t try.
Her heart was now pounding so fast she thought it might leap out her throat. Setting her valise on her lap, she busied herself smoothing her skirt around her ankles.
He clicked his tongue and the cart rocked into motion. “I can handle a lost wheel. But if you slip off this wagon and try to disappear like you did with the farm widows, I’ll carry you into town over my shoulder and ask the authorities to toss you in jail for… For disturbing the peace. God knows, you’ve certainly disturbed mine.”
Chapter 5
Cormac hoped Adella wouldn’t see through his bluff. He couldn’t throw her in jail. If someone questioned her and discovered why she’d come to town, she might not make it out alive. He’d heard too many times about frontier justice acting swift and burying their mistakes in the dark of the night.
Adella was playing a dangerous game, but she hadn’t hurt anyone. He frowned. At least not anyone he knew of. He shook his head to cast out his doubts. Adella wasn’t like the man who’d been sabotaging the railroad. That man had almost killed her.
But she was still a spy. He had two spies to deal with now. And if two, then why not three? Or four? Or more? The thought was daunting. Not as daunting as knowing what to do with the woman sitting next to him though.
He allowed himself a slow soft curse, in Gaelic so she wouldn’t know what he said. Building a railroad was challenging enough without half-wild workers, protesting farm widows, and a spy who he was more attracted to than any woman he’d ever met. He must use the half-hour it would take to travel to town wisely. He must figure out the conundrum Adella Willows represented.
Unfortunately, the woman sitting next to him was damnably distracting. She perched beside him with her thigh rubbing his. She kept readjusting her skirt, her movements amplifying his already heightened awareness of her. He’d never met anyone more alive. Why did a bright young woman like this choose such a dangerous profession?
“How much is the Joy Line paying you?” he asked.
Her jaw tightened. “I’m getting what I need.”
The cart lurched and he tore his gaze from her. They’d reached the ravine his men had filled yesterday. The ground on either side of the track was a slick slope. He angled the cart for the track. The rickety thing would be better off travelling over the rails than through the mud. He decided this too late, and when the mare was on the track, the cart remained stuck in the mud.
“Whoa, now. Steady, girl.” The mare ignored him and continued pulling. Keeping a firm hand on the reins, he
jumped to the ground, putting himself between Adella and the closest slope. “Best get down, lass. Hop off the other side of the wagon and onto the tracks. Then I’ll push the cart out.” He widened his stance, bracing his toe against the wheel and his palm against the seat. “I’ve plenty of experience from the bogs ’round Galway.”
“I’m even more familiar. An Irish bog is no match for a Georgia swamp.” With her valise clutched on her lap, Adella shimmied across the wagon seat toward him. She held out her free hand. “Give me the reins.”
He drew them out of her reach. The mare tossed her head, rattling her bridle. Then she lunged. The cart emitted a startling crack and tipped, sliding Adella even closer to him.
Releasing the cart, he raised a cautionary hand between them. “Keep still. The wheel’s coming loose. If it does, I can’t stop you from falling in the mud. Whatever you are, you’re still a lady. I don’t think you want to get dirty again or walk all the way to town.”
“And I don’t think you know me very well, Mr. McGrady.” She lifted her skirt giving him a tantalizing view of her legs from trim ankle to shapely knee, making his heart race. She lifted one dainty foot.
His heart skipped a beat. “Adella, don’t—”
She stomped her heel on top of the wheel. Pain exploded in his shin as the wheel came free. Without its support the cart collapsed, sending Adella crashing into his chest, toppling him backward.
He released the reins. He wouldn’t drag the horse down with them and cause it injury. Instead, his hands instinctively wrapped around Adella’s waist. They fell together—her on top, his back taking the brunt of the impact—and slid down the ravine. The horse whinnied and whatever was left of the cart rattled off along the track.
Their descent halted as abruptly as it began. Cormac lay motionless with his eyes squeezed shut, laboring to draw in a full breath. When he did, his discomfort vanished. He became intensely aware of Adella’s legs against his. Under his palms, her torso was silky smooth, but something hard poked him in the chest. Something between him and Adella. He cracked one eye open.
She’d managed to keep that damnable bag with her. The one she’d rather hold onto than accept his hand at the train station. The one she’d rather risk capture than leave in Stevens’ railcar.
“Are you all right?” She stared down at him with wide amber eyes. So close. Not close enough.
He could only grunt a yes.
She released a breath, almost like she’d been holding it. “I suspect otherwise. No doubt, you feel you must act all stoic and manly. I’m sorry if I caused you injury and I regret my…enthusiasm. Perhaps I should not have kicked the wheel quite so hard.” She folded her hands on top of the bag and rested her chin on them, her expression unreadable—as if she regretted nothing, as if she weren’t affected by their sudden intimacy.
Frustration rolled through him like thunder after a flash of lightning. She did not blink as she watched him. Nor did she have the good grace to meet his gaze again. Instead, she stared at a point somewhere between his nose and chin. The delicate flick of her tongue across her lips sent him over the edge.
He wrenched the bag out from between them and flung it as far as he could. Pushing up on her elbows, she tracked it with wide eyes as it bounced out of reach.
“Go on,” he growled. “Go after you precious bag.” His traitorous hands returned to her waist, countermanding his order. “At the worksite you abandoned your camera. Now you don’t even look where it might have gone. But that bag? You care more about it than your own safety.”
Her gaze returned to him, narrowing. “You become testy over the oddest things. Are you sure you are uninjured?”
“I’m fine. But you need to get up. I’m taking you to town.”
“Why not toss me after my valise and return to your precious railroad?”
“Because I don’t manhandle women, no matter how…” he ground his teeth, “…frustrating they are. Nor do I abandon them on the prairie where anything could happen to them. Not even when they are foolhardy and duplicitous. Now get up. We’re going to town.”
She didn’t move, just continued staring at him. “You didn’t think it could get any worse than me being English. Well, I’m a lot worse. Sorry to disappoint.”
“My only disappointment is that you kicked the wheel off our cart.”
“It was bound to come off sooner or later. I just hurried along the inevitable.”
“This day couldn’t get any poorer.” He pressed his lips tight to control another petty outburst.
Her shoulders sagged and she slumped against him as if wounded by his words. Her bosom settled soft against his chest, her pelvis snug over his. She drew back her head. But the rest of her stayed where it was. “Mr. McGrady…Cormac.” Her voice was a throaty purr. His name swirled like a lover’s caress around his ear.
If he thought having her legs touching his was distracting, it was nothing to having her entire body—minus her bag—stretched out full length on top of him.
He immediately released her waist. “You’re—” His throat closed up and he cleared it roughly. “You’re in a very compromising situation. I suggest you move for that reason alone. Or do you always seduce men to get what you want?”
“Right now, I don’t know what I want.”
He swallowed hard. “Adella, don’t play games with me.”
“I’m not playing at anything.” Gaze locked on his mouth, she lowered her head. “I’m…”
She kept leaning closer. All he could do was stare at her. At her lips. Plump and pink and parted. Damn the consequences. He was going to kiss her.
A soft nicker sounded nearby. Adella glanced toward the noise. The mare had wandered down the slope and stood a handful of strides away.
Adella’s gaze found his again. “I’m an idiot to let you distract me so completely. I hadn’t even noticed that blasted cart was still around.” Adella’s muscles tensed, preparing for action.
“Adella, don’t,” he said, reaching for her again.
Her knees and elbows suddenly poked him in too many sensitive places. As slippery as a bar of soap, she escaped him and crawled through the mud. So much for assuming she cared about getting dirty.
He scrambled after her. His fingers snared her skirt. Too late. She waved her hands in the horse’s face, shooing it away. The cart cracked in two. The camera, rope still tangled around it, fell toward the mud. With a gasp, she dove to catch it.
His hold on her skirt brought her up short. The camera hit the mud with a splash and the mare galloped toward town, probably heading for an oat bucket in the livery.
Adella glared over her shoulder at him.
“I hope your camera isn’t broken.” He released her skirt, raising his hand to rake it through his hair. He stopped when he saw the mud covering his fingers. “But if it is, it’s your own doing. And what for? All you’ve accomplished is that rather than riding into town, we’re walking.”
She turned her profile to him and the furrow lines on her brow slowly smoothed out, retreating behind an impenetrable mask. She retrieved her camera and valise, and sat down crossed legged with them on her lap.
“What are you doing?” Climbing to his feet, he moved to stand in front of her. “I’m escorting you back to town.”
Once more, she folded her hands over her bag. But this time fixed her gaze on the empty horizon. “You can’t force me to walk beside you.”
The way she’d phrased her words, made his insides hollow. “Who said anything about you walking?”
***
After a barrage of cursing and thumping Cormac’s back with her valise and her free hand, Adella settled into a tight-lipped silence. Hanging over his shoulder, she watched her camera rock in a sling he’d fashioned from rope.
Why hadn’t she thought of a carrier like that? Damn him for being so handy, and her for being so reckless. Her impetuous acts had broken the plate but luckily not her camera. She couldn’t rail at Cormac for the loss of the farm widows’ ph
otograph. She had only herself to blame.
Keeping an arm behind her knees, he held her prisoner and strode toward town at an annoyingly effortless pace. Each step caused her head to bob. His shoulder dug uncomfortably into her belly. The back of her throat burned.
“You must grow tired of carrying me,” she said.
“I’m fine.”
“Why not—” Her voice sounded odd, thready and stifled. She tried again. “Why not put me down and save your back?”
“My back’s fine, too.”
A sickly heat washed over her and her vision blurred. “I’m eager to walk.” The declaration burst from her lips, rising alarmingly on the last word.
“I’m eager to reach town.”
“Cormac, I—”
“No.”
“Please,” she managed on the back of a groan. “Put me down.”
He immediately set her on her feet. She felt like a child’s top with the string yanked free. The sky, and Cormac looming high above her, spun in a blur of grays and browns.
“What’s wrong?” His voice sounded far away.
“I feel—” She drew in a shuddery breath, willing her breakfast to stay in place. “I feel—” She gulped again.
“You look seasick. Lean forward with your hands on your knees.” His hand on her neck, gentle but firm, forced her to comply. “Why didn’t you say something sooner?”
She shook her head. Her gut heaved, freezing her into stillness. “I could not.”
“Stubborn English.”
“Opinionated Irish,” she shot back, then groaned again.
Slowly her stomach settled. She became aware of his work-roughened fingers massaging her neck with infinite tenderness. How long had he been doing that? She raised her head and straightened her back, so she could look him in the face.
He kept his hand around the nape of her neck. “Better now?”
Gaze riveted on his face, she swayed toward him. She only did so, she told herself, because it might aid her mission, not because she wanted him to continue touching her. “I can’t go to jail.”
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