An Inescapable Attraction
The Defiant Hearts Series
Book Three
by
Sydney Jane Baily
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www.epublishingworks.com
ISBN: 978-1-61417-617-6
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Copyright © 2013, 2014 by Sydney Jane Baily. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions.
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Dedication
To two wonderful ladies in my life,
my mom, Beryl Baily,
and my aunt, Evelyn Reid
With love and gratitude
Chapter 1
The drifter knew exactly how slowly the train would take the curve. It was the best place on this stretch of track to get aboard. Often, he had a boxcar to himself and he liked that. Not that he couldn't afford a ticket, but he didn't much care for traveling with loads of people. Or, at least, he didn't like their small talk. He was used to solitude, moving from place to place before anyone got to know him and before he had to bother about anyone else.
Stretching out in a boxcar with his head on his bag, he could sleep, think, plan. Usually, he would decide where to go and what to do next—though this time, he had somewhere he had to get to on time. He hated deadlines; they made him edgy.
He could tell which boxcars were empty by the way they swayed on the tracks. Also, sometimes, a thick rope or chain was threaded through a boxcar's two handles if it carried something particularly valuable.
With watchful green eyes, he chose one that obviously held no cargo. At the blind spot of the curve, when he was fairly certain that neither the conductor nor the engineer could see him, he left his hiding place.
Tossing down the stub of his cigarette, he ran from his cover, sped up next to the train, and jumped, grabbing onto the thick metal handle with one hand and slamming the heavy door open with the other. He was in.
Instead of the utter darkness that sometimes greeted him, this car had a two-foot-by-two-foot hole punched in the far side; maybe at one time, it had contained animals that needed air. In any case, he was glad for the sunlight that streamed in, making a square of light in the middle of the floor. He planned to have a good long snooze in that sunny patch.
Before he'd had a chance to settle in and toss down his bag, he heard a noise and drew his gun, realizing instantly he wasn't alone. Not a rat, not by the moan. Narrowing his eyes he surveyed the car; not much to see except some old hay and a pile in one corner. A moaning pile.
Placing his worn leather bag by the door for a swift getaway, he walked cautiously toward what he could now discern was a slender form lying in the shadows—with loose pants, a long duster, a pale face, and a hat that had fallen to the side.
"Hey," he said, touching the toe of his boot to the small man's side.
The eyes flew open, and astonishingly, the heart-shaped face broke out into a smile.
"Thaddeus," said a woman's voice, not just any woman's either—the voice that had haunted his dreams and spurred his non-stop travels. "I thought you were here," she said, making no sense whatsoever, "but then I lost you again."
His heart galloped painfully as he shoved his gun back in its holster and dropped to his knees. This simply could not be!
"Ellie?" What in the hell was she doing here and talking so strangely, too? He hadn't seen her for over three years. Why would she assume—?
"Thaddeus," she said again. "I thought I was dreaming. We were dancing, weren't we?"
She said something else, which he couldn't hear. As he bent lower, she lifted her arms to him and draped them around his neck, trying to pull him close. Her lips parted as though she wanted him to kiss her.
Stunned, he held still. Was he the one dreaming? He'd kissed Ellie Prentice before and had wanted to do it again since he was eighteen. Maybe he'd hit his head or something. She was waiting, heavy-lidded eyes locked on him. He leaned closer, putting his cheek against hers.
She was hot, too hot, burning up with fever. Christ!
He started to pull back, and she moaned, briefly trying to hold him in place.
"You're merely a dream, aren't you? I'm so cold. Gonna die alone in a dirty boxcar." And she dropped her arms and turned her face away from him.
His heartbeat seemed to speed up, and he realized he was scared. Not much scared him either. He'd traveled across the country numerous times and met some downright mean and frightening people. However, nothing had ever made his blood run colder than the sight of Ellie lying limp and lifeless. And him with no idea what to do. He couldn't jump off the train with her in this condition. In another half hour, however, it would stop to fill its water tanks.
"Ellie, listen to me. You're not gonna die on this damn train."
No response. He touched her shoulder. "Darlin'?"
She moaned at the gentle word.
"You're gonna be fine," he added, stroking her burning cheek, though he wasn't sure of that at all. She should've married that doctor she was engaged to. Riley would know what to do.
It seemed like an eternity, waiting for the train to stop. Luckily, he always carried a waterskin, but he dribbled water against her lips with little success. What she needed was an icy bath; at least, that's what he assumed. And he had needed to get her off this blasted stuffy boxcar.
A few miles past Wataga, Illinois, even though there wasn't any station, the train stopped at a water tower, to replenish its tanks. Hearing the water crane being hoisted and the tanks filling, Thaddeus knew it wouldn't take long.
Slamming the door open, he tossed his bag down onto the ground below; it held just about everything important to him in this world, except his only sister, who was happily married with children in Boston. Then he found Ellie's bag next to her, a well-used carpetbag, and he sent it out after his. Lastly, he picked her up, sat down on the edge of the boxcar, and jumped down the few feet to the ground.
He heard a man shout, perhaps an angry conductor, but ignored him. Holding Ellie against his side, he picked up both bags, securing them around his shoulders before lifting her into his arms again. Then he started walking.
The town was small, too small for a station or a fancy hotel, smaller even than his and Ellie's hometown of Spring City, Colorado. However, after asking a few questions, he found a rooming house run by an older couple. A religious couple. A couple who asked questions.
"Are you married?" came the first question from the old man, eyeing Thaddeus with an unconscious woman in his arms.
Thaddeus took one glance at Ellie, with her red cheeks and sweat on her forehead and said, "Yes, sir, we
are. My wife took sick and we had to get off the train." No need to tell them that they weren't in the passenger car.
"You got money," asked the old lady.
"Yes, ma'am, enough for a room and a meal. But my wife needs ice and maybe a doctor, if there is one."
"No doctor in town. Got a barber," said her husband, making a sour face as though he wouldn't recommend the man. "You can have a room. Follow me." He picked up their two bags and led the way.
Thaddeus carried Ellie up the stairs to a bedroom off the first floor landing and lay her gently on the bed, big enough for two.
"Do you know what's wrong with her?" asked the old lady, who'd followed them upstairs, holding Ellie's grimy duster that clearly had seen better days. Thaddeus took the long coat from her and tossed it over the only chair in the room.
"No, ma'am, except she's burning up."
"If I were you, I'd strip her off. Henry'll bring you some ice from the icehouse. You can rub 'em on her skin. And I'll find you some rags. You can soak 'em in cold water and wrap 'em around her."
Thaddeus nodded with gratitude. This was far outside of anything he had knowledge of, such as playing cards or pool, whether straight rail or fifteen-ball.
"Tell you what," the woman added, warming to the task of directing the healing, "I'll make some raisin tea, like my mama used to make. It'll bring down her fever for sure."
"Thank you again, ma'am," Thaddeus said, and in a flash, he and Ellie were left alone. He looked at his "wife" and shook his head. Eliza goddamned Prentice was in a room with him. And she'd welcomed him with open arms in the boxcar. What in blue blazes had just happened to his life?
He reckoned he ought to do what the old lady said; after removing his own narrow-lapelled black coat and gun belt, he began gingerly to take off Ellie's layers, glad the couple hadn't balked at her strange garb. It wasn't every day you saw a lady in trousers, especially when her husband was dressed in a good suit, replete with embroidered vest, intent on looking like a man of business when he got off the train in Chicago.
He started by removing her boots that turned out to be miles too large. He'd left her hat behind on the floor of the boxcar. Now, he flicked off the close fitting kerchief that was tied around her head, relishing the sight of her long blond hair—braided into one thick rope—oddly pleased that it wasn't chopped off to enhance her disguise. Then he began unbuttoning her shirt.
He swallowed hard and kept going, all the while, she was feverishly moaning and muttering. He unbuckled her baggy pants and slid them down her slim legs, finding she had on knee-high men's stockings underneath. He left them untouched for the time being, along with the short white shift she had under the shirt. No corset, nothing else, except her drawers. He definitely didn't touch those.
Jumping at the sound of a sharp rap at the door, he said, "Come in."
The old man stepped in and then looked quickly away from the bed.
"Here's some ice, son." He put down a large tin pail. "There's more if you need it."
And he skedaddled away from the sight of the distraught man and the partially undressed woman.
Thaddeus set to rubbing the ice across her forehead, her feet, her wrists, and across her shivering shoulders. His own body seemed to be getting heated while stroking her skin, though he was trying not to think about that. He rolled her over, lifted her shift and ran the last piece of ice up and down her spine.
Mesmerized by the delicate shape of Ellie's back and hips, he didn't realize there'd been a knock at the door until after the old lady came in and stood beside him. He tore his gaze away to see what she had in her hands.
"You're a natural at this, young man. Sit her up and we'll try to get this tea into her."
Thaddeus rolled Ellie back over, and she opened her eyes.
"Thaddeus," was all she said, then she frowned at the old woman holding out the mug of tea.
"You try," the woman told him. "Use the spoon and get some into your wife."
"My wife," he repeated, gazing into Ellie's crystalline blue eyes, the eyes that had haunted him for years. Now they were unfocused and overly bright. "Of course."
He took the spoon and the cup and proceeded to insert a little tea between her lovely blush pink lips. Then some more. He spooned it in while she grimaced, until she closed her mouth firmly and wouldn't take anymore.
"Half the cup," remarked the woman. "Not bad. I gots to go fix dinner. Try to get the rest into her." She was at the door when she turned. "You hungry?"
Thaddeus realized he was. "Yes, ma'am."
"I'll call you when it's ready, then." And she disappeared.
He sighed. This was not how he'd planned his day. He had a buyer to get to in Chicago and some filched swag to sell that would set him up, he hoped, for years to come. After that, he'd intended to enjoy a fast poker game that was calling to him down south in New Orleans before he made a rendezvous with destiny in Montana territory.
But then, Ellie Prentice had screwed up more than this one day. In some ways, she was responsible for his whole damn life turning out the way it had. First, her come-hither smile when they were both in their teens, then her surprising engagement to his friend, Riley.
He'd taken one look at her excited face and the sparkling ring on her finger that day, and he'd high-tailed it out of Spring City. Very rarely, he'd gone back to see his sister before she'd moved away, but his visits were brief and designed for the least chance of contact with Ellie. Was he jealous? Hell, no!
Then he'd heard she'd changed her mind and let Riley go free, right before the man became a full-fledged, licensed doctor, too. Thaddeus had dutifully attended Riley's wedding in San Francisco. After all, Riley had married into the same Malloy family as Thaddeus's sister, Charlotte. It was almost like they were related now.
Except Thaddeus had never stopped wondering about Ellie, who'd left Spring City without telling anyone where she was heading and, as far as he knew, had never gone back. That had been about eleven months prior, not that he was keeping track.
She moaned, and he felt her forehead. Still hot. Jumping off the bed, he ran down the stairs, encountering the old man in a chair reading a newspaper.
"I think I could use a little more ice, sir, if you don't mind."
"Icehouse is in the back. You can help yourself."
Thaddeus grabbed the bucket and went outside. He was gone only a couple minutes, but when he returned to their room, he blanched.
"Christ!"
Ellie had obviously tried to get up, delirious as she was. She'd slipped off the bed onto the floor and was half on her side with her cheek resting on the floor. Her shift in disarray exposed her legs as well as the underside of her right breast where the neckline gaped open.
He put the bucket down and hoisted her into his arms, feeling all the soft curves of her body, along with the heat of the fever, as he lowered her back onto the bed.
She flung her arms around his neck, holding him close. Her eyes were shut, but her uneasy breathing indicated that she was not in a peaceful sleep. Ellie pressed her scantily clad body against him, and heat shot to his groin.
He mentally scolded himself—she was helpless, and he didn't take advantage of women. Ever.
And especially not the one who'd stomped on his heart.
Carefully, he unclasped her hands from behind his neck and released himself. She moaned again. Time for more ice.
Grabbing a chunk, he started at her white shoulders. She hissed when he pressed it against her, and he flinched at the sound. Still, he persisted in stroking it across her heated, shivering skin. Over her forehead, her cheeks, her throat, down her chest to... sweet Jesus, the valley between her breasts.
Fascinated and knowing he shouldn't, Thaddeus slid the ice over the swell of each one until he realized he was watching to see if her nipples hardened under the fabric. They did. He gulped and ran a cold hand over his own forehead.
Skipping over her middle parts, he stared at her legs and, for a split second, wished to God
he'd chosen a different boxcar. The next moment, he knew that was a bold lie. Glancing at her pretty face, surrounded by flaxen hair plastered with sweat and ice water, he knew he didn't regret helping Ellie for a second. He couldn't imagine the horror of her awakening alone on that train, disoriented with fever. Or worse, her not awakening at all. No, he was all she had.
Her stockings had to go, but he hesitated a moment, his heart racing. Removing a lady's stockings was usually an erotic experience, followed by an enjoyably sensual dalliance. However, touching Ellie while she was unconscious and removing intimate articles of her clothing without her consent made his hands clammy and his mouth go dry.
He took a breath. Avoiding the stockings was not going to make them disappear. Feeling as though he was breaking all boundaries of decency, he peeled them down her knees, past her trim calves, before whipping them off her feet and tossing them behind his back. He glanced at her nervously, but she hadn't stirred. He wasn't done yet, though. He had to apply the ice.
From her ankle of one lithe leg, up her smooth skin, he traced the ice, going as high as he dared up one thigh; he then moved to the other, going in reverse from top to bottom. At last, when he reached her other ankle, he gasped in a ragged breath, only then realizing he'd forgotten to breathe.
Turning her over, Thaddeus reached for another piece of ice before sweeping his eyes over the backs of her calves and higher.
"Shit!" he swore when he saw the red wound, roughly two inches long, on her left leg, festering an inch below her knee. It looked about a week old, though it hadn't scabbed over; instead, it was oozing and inflamed. She had other scrapes, too, though none nearly as bad.
"Shit," he said again, thinking of Doc Cuthins, who had been the doctor in Spring City for Thaddeus's whole life. Or even Riley, though he was practicing in San Francisco. Ellie needed a doctor, not him, a man with no skills whatsoever except for winning at cards and shooting straight.
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