“Greetings, Miss Davenport.” Dunham’s grin faded as he turned his attention to Cole. “I’m here, I’m hungry, and I’m damn tired of this cantankerous beast.”
“Cantankerous beast?”
Dunham swung out of the saddle. “Moonshine had no desire to leave Miss Sophie’s place. Those ladies spoiled him rotten.”
“You sound like you’re describing yourself.”
“You could say that.”
The broad smile on Dunham’s face didn’t improve Cole’s mood a damned bit. The man was shameless. Even on a mission as complicated as this one, his partner managed to slide between the sheets with a warm and willing woman.
“Looks like you survived your debauchery.”
“Miss Sophie’s place has a new girl, a pretty little Parisian mademoiselle who can do things with her—” Cole cut him off with a sharp glance in Emma’s direction. Dunham cleared his throat. “Voice. Miss Simone has a range you’d…have to hear to believe.”
“I’ll bet. Did you manage to accomplish anything aside from enjoying Miss Simone’s talents?”
His partner untied two bulging saddlebags from his mount. “I got more supplies. You must be sick of potatoes.”
“Yep.” Cole poured water from the bucket in the basin and washed his hands. “Any word from our contact?”
Steve nodded. “I have a message for you.”
“My father will not respond to your demands,” Emma’s voice had a quiet finality.
“Then we’re going to be together for a long time,” Cole said, drying his hands on a rag.
Her full lips thinned. “Someday, you will regret this.”
“Believe me, I already do.”
She marched past him, slamming the door to the cabin behind her.
“She’s a feisty girl,” Steve’s remark punctuated the reverberation of the door.
“Feisty? That’s not what I’d call it.”
“Enjoyed your time together, did you?”
Cole rubbed his bandaged arm. “About as much as getting shot.”
“Well, that’s a damn shame. All alone with a pretty girl—”
“Do you ever meet a woman without thinking about how she’d look with her skirts over her head?”
His partner shrugged. “Not when I can help it.” His gaze drifted toward the cabin, as if he sought out Emma, but then he snapped his focus back to Cole. “In any case, I suggest we allow Miss Davenport a few minutes of privacy—I have news you need to hear.”
Dunham motioned Cole away from their hideaway. Safely out of hearing range, Cole leaned against a tree trunk and kept his eyes on the cabin. He wasn’t about to let Emma out of his sight.
His partner stared into the distance, as if searching for intruders. The man was always alert. Always aware. That was how you stayed alive. “I know who shot you.”
“MacDowell found him?”
Dunham nodded. “MacDowell followed the plan you mapped out—after leaving the train at the next station, he retraced our escape route. He came upon a wounded man on the ground not far from where we stopped the train. He was barely alive but managed to spit out a few words.”
“Where’s he now?”
“MacDowell transported him to our agents in Cumberland. They’ll make sure the son of a bitch doesn’t get away. Not that he’d want to—he’s safer with them than with the men who hired him. Those bastards will kill him on sight to shut him up.”
“Staton sent him?”
Another nod. “Or one of his associates. Staton’s an angel singing in a choir compared to the bastards he deals with—the senator’s prodigal daughter is mixed up with some very dangerous men.”
Cold dread slithered along Cole’s spine. “What are you talking about?”
“You know those weapons shipments that went missing near Shiloh?”
“The work of Rebel scouts, most likely.”
Dunham shook his head. “The Rebels didn’t have anything to do with the stolen guns or the murders of the men transporting them. This is a helluva lot worse.”
“Staton’s men.”
“Staton’s involved, but he didn’t engineer those thefts. You’ve heard of the DuBois brothers?”
“From New Orleans. They think they’re goddamn pirates on land.”
“Pierre DuBois is the brains of the organization. His brother, Raphael, is less calculating but a hell of a lot meaner, from what I’m told.”
“Don’t underestimate Pierre DuBois. He’s a vicious bastard in his own right.”
“Figures they’d be a lot alike. They’re twins.”
“Twins?” Son of a bitch! The cryptic note was starting to make sense. The twins will reign.
Dunham propped an elbow against a tree. The tense set of his jaw contradicted his casual stance. “Those bastards don’t give a damn whether they steal weapons from the Rebs or the Union, and they sure as hell don’t care who buys them. As long as you’ve got the money, they’ll find a way to get what you want. But right now, there’s something they’re after that’s worth more to them than gold—they’re itching to get their hands on Miss Davenport.”
Cole plowed a hand through his hair. “She’s got something they need.”
“What are you talking about?”
He pulled the small volume from his pocket. “Take a look.”
Dunham regarded it with a knowing glimmer in his eyes. “The old coded book trick, huh?”
“She didn’t seem to have any idea what this really is.”
“A girl like that wouldn’t have any cause to suspect it’s anything more than a gift from her lover.”
Her lover. Why did the words grate against Cole’s ears like a railroad spike dragged over a slate?
“Quite a token of affection,” Cole said. “I don’t think she has the cipher key.”
Dunham shook his shaggy head. “Staton’s got it with him—or whoever else is supposed to get his hands on this book.”
“The senators crying for her head are going to dance a jig when they find out about this.”
“It doesn’t mean she’s in on their plan,” Dunham said evenly. “He’s duped her.”
“You really don’t think she has a part in this?”
“I don’t believe she’s capable of such treachery.”
Cole slowly shook his head. “A pretty face doesn’t have a damn thing to do with what she’s capable of. That she-devil back in Kansas City was more syrupy than sweet tea until she plunged a knife in me.” Just thinking about the murderous strumpet made his shoulder ache.
“Sooner or later, we’ll find out the truth about Miss Emma Davenport.” Dunham handed him the book. “Whether she’s in on his scheme or not, Staton will want to silence her.”
“Staton—and God only knows who else. We need to get her home.”
Doubts flickered in Dunham’s eyes. “Her father isn’t going to be able to keep her safe.”
“And we can?”
“We can hide her.”
Cole shook his head. “I can’t take that chance. Two men against what might be an army—it’s too big a risk. I’m taking her home.”
Chapter Thirteen
“Gather your things, Miss Davenport.”
If Cole’s words were meant as a command, Emma was having none of it. She tucked her bookmark between the pages and slowly lifted her gaze.
“My things as you put it so nicely are gathered…unless you’ve ransacked them again.”
“Good.” The single word clipped between his teeth.
“Have you come to your senses? I warned you my father will not take this lightly.”
“I’m well aware of your father’s stance on this matter. You’ll be on a train back to Washington by tomorrow morning.”
Stubborn, stubborn man. Emma shot to her feet, her novel dangling from one hand. “I cannot return home. This will end badly. Surely you must know that by now.”
His partner appeared behind Cole’s broad back. “To tell you the truth, that’s the outcome we’re
trying to avoid.”
“You are more reasonable than this—hun. I know you must understand my plight.”
“Your plight?” Cole repeated, seeming to test the words on his tongue. “At some point, you may want to consider wringing your hands. It adds a nice touch.”
Her nails dug into the spine of her novel, but she pulled in a breath and calmly placed the volume in her seat. Facing him, she brought her hands together. “Better?”
He shook his head. “That’s the most pitiful wringing of hands I’ve ever seen. Most of the women I’ve menaced have managed to look much more…well, menaced.”
“Perhaps I don’t find you very threatening.”
His mouth hitched in that dangerous grin of his. “Would you like me to try harder?”
“I assure you that will not be necessary. Transportation to the nearest train depot is all I require. I am entirely capable of managing the rest.”
“That’s the worst example of pitiful pleading I’ve ever seen,” Cole observed coolly. “You’re not very good at this, are you?”
“You are a thoroughly detestable man. Exasperating and ornery don’t begin to describe you.”
He folded his arms and leaned against the porch support. “Do I still get to be a barbarian?”
“Well, then, it seems there will be no reasoning with you. I am not surprised, not in the least.” Emma turned her attention to the man who shadowed him. “Perhaps I can speak with you in rational terms.”
Steve shrugged his broad shoulders. “Actually ma’am, I’m every bit as detestable as him. I might even be more ornery, and definitely more exasperating.”
“Well, then, it looks as though the two of you have this all figured out. So tell me, what is it you expect of me?”
Steve met her question with a smile that would put a snake oil salesman to shame. “It’s simple, ma’am. All you need to do is put your things in your satchel, and we’ll take care of the rest. ”
She lifted her chin, but she still couldn’t avoid looking up to meet his gaze. What she wouldn’t have given for a few more inches of height.
“What makes you think I’ll board a train?”
“It’s either that, or you’ll ride with one of us. It’s a long journey on horseback. And trust me, the accommodations along the way aren’t as fine as these. Sleeping in a cabin is a luxury compared to bedding down on the ground overnight.”
“Insufferable men! The both of you…mule-headed oafs.”
“Yep.” Cole spoke up, his voice low and spare. “Once you get back to Washington, you can do whatever you want. But for now, you’ll get on the train and you’ll stay on it until you’ve returned to your father.”
“He will not reward you. I don’t know what he’s told you or what he’s promised, but you won’t see a penny out of this. Mark my words.”
Cole regarded her for a long, silent moment. “At this point, I’m ready to pay him to take you off my hands.”
He might have meant the remark to sting, but the way he kept his eyes fixed on her mouth tempered his words. His eyes simmered with an undercurrent of heat, carnal and dangerous. Finally, he whipped around and stalked off toward his mount. The breath hovering in her throat released in a tiny sigh she prayed only she could hear.
Steve stared down at her, his full mouth stretched taut. Questions played in his gaze, but he plowed long fingers through his mass of sandy hair and muttered an epithet she knew was not directed at her.
Turning to follow his partner, he threw a look over one shoulder. “Don’t make this hard on yourself. Just do what you’re told, and we’ll get you home.”
* * *
If he lived to be ninety-nine and nine months, Cole doubted he’d ever forget the look in Emma’s eyes after he’d hurled what any other woman might have taken as a petty cruelty her way. He’d scarcely been able to pry his gaze from her mouth—Jesus, those sweetly curved lips of hers were enough to drive a monk from his vows—but when he did, he knew he’d made a catastrophic mistake.
She’d seen through him. Emma had read him as clearly as that goddamn book about Heathcliff she was so devoted to—she knew he wanted her. And just as when he kissed her, she’d responded with a rosy flush of heat over her cheeks, a tempting morsel of carnal hunger.
She was a temptation, all right, wrapped in a proper cotton day dress. She’d lead him straight to the brig—or a firing squad, depending on how much influence her father really wielded with Grant. She was off-limits. God knew he’d already gone too far.
He rested his back against a tree as his mount watered at the creek. The rough bark dug into his spine, but he welcomed the distraction. Anything to take his mind off Emma Davenport.
Cole spotted his partner approaching. Was Dunham scowling? What had Emma done to cloud his happy-all-the-goddamn-time attitude? Was it his partner’s turn to walk away from Emma Davenport to stop himself from kissing her?
Dunham grabbed Moonshine’s reins and led the horse to the creek. “You’re counting on an operative to keep her on the train. I’m not sure that’s going to work.”
“What choice do we have? Neither of us can ride the rails with her. Besides, she’ll be more cooperative with a female escort.”
“What about protecting her?”
“We’ll trail the route. If she gets off…or anyone suspicious gets on…we’ll be there.”
Dunham nodded. “She gets to you, doesn’t she?”
“She’s a pain in the ass.”
“But a damn pretty one.”
“You really can’t meet a woman without thinking of bedding her, can you, Dunham? Maybe I need to put some saltpeter in with your rations.”
“A blind man could tell she’s beautiful. The girl even smells pretty.”
Cole dropped his gaze as the very recent memory of Emma’s delicate, entirely feminine scent filled his senses.
“Comments like that are why I’m saddled with her and you get to ride off into town.”
“You really did miss something special with Miss Simone. The things that girl can do…” A wistful expression fell over Dunham’s features. “You’ve never cared much for the place.”
“I’m not much interested in women I have to pay.”
“What makes you think she’s interested in my money? Those girls love a man who knows how to—”
“They love a man who knows how to tuck greenbacks in their palms…or down their corsets. Enough with the horseshit.”
Dunham shot him a sidelong glance. “Who put a burr in your saddle? Just who do you have in mind as a chaperone, anyway?”
“Lilibet.”
“I’ll have to go ahead of you and set things up.”
Cole nodded his agreement. “She’s in Cumberland, or at least, she was when we left Washington. If she’s not around, find Maribelle.”
“Maribelle at Miss Sophia’s?”
“Yep. She’s one of the best operatives we’ve got.”
Dunham’s shaggy hair flicked against the air as he shook his head. “Damn, I never knew.”
“I told you she’s good. But go after Lilibet first. She’s more suited to escorting someone like Emma Davenport.”
“You sure about that? She’s a sweet-natured preacher’s daughter. What does she know about keeping someone as headstrong as Miss Davenport out of trouble?”
“She’s good at what she does. She’s got a cool head, and she’ll do whatever needs to be done. She’s more than capable of protecting our barbed-tongued she-devil.”
“All right.” Dunham’s expression contradicted his words, but his reservations didn’t matter a damn bit. Emma Davenport needed to go home. This was the only way.
“How much of a head start do you need?” Cole asked.
“Two, three hours. Yeah, let’s go with three hours. I’ll meet you behind the old church.”
“Good enough.” Cole tested the straps on the saddle. “If I’m not there by sundown, you’ll know all hell broke loose.”
By the end of the day,
Emma would be on her way back to Washington. The senator’s runaway daughter would be someone else’s problem. Cole would walk away from this goddamn ridiculous bodyguard duty and get back into the field. So why did he feel like someone had slugged him in the gut?
* * *
Emma tucked her novel in her satchel and stalked off to retrieve the volume of poetry Cole had confiscated. Regardless of whatever nonsense he spouted about underlined words and double meanings, the book was hers and she intended to have it back. The man was making an ado about nothing. He wanted to sow doubts in her head about her fiancé, but his accusations were too farfetched to be believed. Frederick would no more provide her a book filled with secret codes than she would sing an aria on the floor of the Capitol.
Planting her hands on her hips, she tried her best to recall Aunt Elizabeth’s intimidating manner. The old bird had been known to send grown men running at her beck and call—or for cover, depending on her mood of the day. Emma did know something about cultivating a commanding presence, after all. In any case, following her aunt’s example would bolster her confidence just a bit.
He stared down at her as if she’d sprouted another head. His mouth hitched up at one corner. Blast him and that grin. She didn’t want to feel anything but anger and the force of her convictions at that moment.
“May I help you, Miss Davenport?” His tone was as solicitous—and phony—as the compliments offered by her father’s bootlicking associates.
“I gathered my things, per your instructions, but I am still without one of my possessions.”
The tilt of his mouth increased. “There’s not much I can do about your petticoat right now. Perhaps I’ll have one delivered to you in Washington. I have the address.”
Chin up. Back straight. Once again, Aunt Elizabeth’s dictates rang in Emma’s mind like an infantry sergeant’s commands. She wouldn’t let Cole discombobulate her. No, she was prepared this time. He wouldn’t sway her away from her purpose. She’d have her book back, and she’d have it now.
“I believe you know what I’m referring to,” she said in a crisp voice that brooked no nonsense.
“Look, if someone took one of your skirts or that torture device you call a corset, I’d have to put the blame on my partner. He might’ve thought it would buy him a little sweet talk from some French filly he couldn’t stop talking about.”
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