by Denise Daye
“Egan!” Milton's voice brought her back, holding both of her hands, rubbing his thumbs into her cold palms to force the frozen blood to circulate. “Look at me,” he begged. "It will be okay. They are looking for a woman, and I will protect you," he promised her with big, teary eyes.
Esther glanced at her rescuer. It was not his job to do so—it was hers. She had to be strong, for everything that mattered to her. Esther took a deep breath in, slowly blowing it out again. Milton was right; they were looking for a woman, so all she had to was keep a low profile. For God’s sakes, they were so close.
“Morris,” she mumbled. This man had crept back into her life like an incurable fever. And what was fear that had paralyzed her moments ago now turned to anger, making her blood simmer.
“I’m fine.” She lifted her hand up to Milton’s cheek whose look of worry was imprinted in his eyes like a tattoo.
“Really,” she said once more, forcing her voice to sound steady and true. A train whistle reverberated through the station, halting the chattering and marrying of the people.
“We have to go.” Esther took in another deep breath before pushing herself off the train, her first steps weak and shaky, but quickly changing into her usual, determined walk.
Milton was right at her side, his little mind also deep in troubling thoughts.
“Don’t worry,” Esther comforted him, grabbing his hand. “I swear awn maah cousin Bobby’s guh-rave, none awf thayse chuckleheads will be drinkin’ from maah bounny,” she joked into Milton’s ear in the strongest Texan cowgirl accent she could come up with.
Milton threw his head back in laughter, hitting his little leg with his hand to cope.
Esther smiled at him, on the outside, but on the inside, she was boiling with rage. The thought of Morris invaded her once more like an eerie light pulsing in pitch darkness. He wasn’t slow-witted, she had to give him that. All he had to do was prove that he didn’t have anything to do with her disappearance in New York. Having her corpse shipped from the West by some bounty hunter would shift the blame and open his path toward the Silverton inheritance like a pleasant walk on a field of roses, trampling on every fragile flower in his way. But Esther was not even close to giving up. Roses have thorns as well, in case Morris had forgotten, and her blood grew hotter than the scorching sun. Something seemed to have awoken in her. Something raging and wild, determined to take the war straight back to Morris and win it like a true Silverton. And there was no better way of doing that than making it to Chama—alive!
Emily was standing by the window, leaning against it with her back. George was looking straight at her, but his mind wandered off yet again to the boy he was so fond of. What the bloody hell was he doing tugging the hair back behind his ear like that? Since he had met Egan that dreadful, cold night in New York, things had progressively turned more awkward between them. Or to be more precise, not between the two but with George, as poor Egan had most likely no idea what was going on here. But George didn’t either. Was he attracted to his own sex all of a sudden? Had stress pushed him over the edge of the truth of who he really was? Was that the reason why he had never fallen in love and gotten married? No. That couldn’t be. His past was full of occasions, especially when he was young and more foolish than wise, in which he had felt sexually attracted to women, and not once to a man. But whatever he felt when he was looking into those loyal, adventurous brown eyes was definitely more than just some simple friendship. He was old and experienced enough to know the difference. Deep in thought, George was walking over to the whiskey tray. Suddenly he remembered that Emily was with him. He turned toward her, but she seemed lost in her own thoughts.
“May I offer you a drink?” he asked, picking up one of the bottles, snapping her right out of wherever her own mind had just wandered off to.
“No, it won’t take long,” she said pulling something out of her little purse. She held it inside her palm without handing it to George just yet. “I will get straight to the point.” She smiled nervously, her beautiful red lips revealing her perfect, white teeth.
George had laid eyes on her many times, but he was always surprised at her beauty every time he saw her again. Was that not a good sign, proof he was still the same George who was looking for love with a woman? “How can I be of service?” he asked to jumpstart the conversation.
Emily looked down onto the piece of paper in her hand, which seemed to help her relax her tense shoulders.
“I… I know I seem very confident and entitled at times,” she said, still staring down onto her hand, “but there is more to me than looks.”
She now had his full attention as he knew exactly where this conversation was heading. Too many times he had been asked by a woman, or her mother, to have a word in private.
“Emily—”
“Please let me speak my mind,” she interrupted him, now focusing her arctic blue eyes on his. George nodded.
“I overheard the gossip in New York that you are from one of the most respectable and oldest noble houses in Europe.” There was nothing George would have liked better in this moment than to stop her right there, but he was too much of a gentleman to do so. “And by God, I have never met a more bewitching charmer than you, Lord George Astley,” she teased before lowering her gaze again. “I know that marriage is not on your mind right now, not with me, not with any other heiresses,” Emily added before she paused. George was leaning against the desk, preparing himself for the ‘but’ that would soon follow, just as it always did with the more aggressive women proposing to him.
“But,” Emily focused her gaze on him again, “I also know that you are at the brink of financial ruin and your sister is engaged to an animal with means.”
And there it was! George didn’t say it out loud, but in thought he congratulated himself for having won the imaginary bet he just placed against himself, once more.
“So, all I’m asking,” Emily now hesitantly walked over, stopping right in front of him, “all I’m asking is that you think about it for a night or two. Don’t just say no right away.” She held the card up in front of him, which most likely had her information on it. He would not marry her, but the way Emily had opened up in front of him, made herself vulnerable, she didn’t deserve to be treated unkindly. George would take the card and respectfully decline her offer, just like he had done many times before with all the women he knew he could never love and therefore never make happy. But right when he was about to grab it, to show her respect, the real Emily Wayne broke free again, swallowing that skittish, innocent girl in front of him to reveal the cunning, manipulative, entitled woman she truly was.
“It would be very selfish to sacrifice your poor mother and sister’s comforts by turning down my offer of marriage. To be thrown into poverty from such noble birth… Could you live with yourself knowing you had done this to them?”
Emily tried to sound caring, as if she only had his and his family’s best interest in mind—almost like a savior from his own foolish actions. But George was no man who liked the taste of emotional blackmail on his tongue—even when it came from a goddess like her. He lowered his arm again, refusing the card he had been just seconds away from grabbing. If Emily Wayne thought she could walk in here and trap him in a marriage of hell with a few cunning threats, then she was as far from reality as the sun from the moon. He remembered it as if it were yesterday. Isabella, his sister, and he were standing in front of their father’s grave, swearing to one another that they would only marry for love. His beloved sister was the only reason he was in the lawless Wild West in the first place. He would manage, with or without money and an estate, but his poor sister was not to be married to that disgusting pig Lord Warrington, not as long as George was still breathing.
George didn’t say a word. His narrowed eyes stared right back at Emily, who ultimately was the first to turn her gaze away. With a grin of victory on her face, she stepped right in front of him, only inches away, to reach around him and place the card onto the desk.
This was clearly an attempt to seduce him, leaning into him so closely, her breasts rubbed against his steel hard chest like a soft summer breeze. But George still didn’t move an inch, staring at her with cold, narrowed eyes, his body as dead inside as a graveyard, no arousal—nothing. Emily waited just a moment longer before she finally stepped back again, disappointment clearly written all over her face.
“Just think about it,” she said in a cold voice, acting as if nothing had ever happened.
And just like that, she walked out, leaving behind the scent of her perfume that certainly drove countless men into insanity of lust, but not George. Nothing turned him off more than a cold-hearted, controlling woman. For God’s sakes, he had grown up with one. No one knew better what it was like surviving one, whether they looked like Aphrodite herself or not. Besides, his mind was already occupied with nobody else but Egan, who was just to enter the room before getting pushed out of the way by Emily like he was an annoying fly.
“What was that all about?” Milton asked, walking behind Egan.
George frowned and waved his hand at the two of them. “Nothing of importance,” he said, putting the card away into a drawer on the desk.
The raucous, metallic sound of iron wheels penetrated their ears as the train slowly started to move again. “Finally,” George rolled his eyes.
“We should be in Denver by tomorrow morning,” Egan said, sitting down on his bunk bed. He took off his hat and used his fingers as an improvised comb to get his hair in order, hair that was brown and naturally wavy, just falling over his ears.
George noticed that Egan still wore the same clothes he was wearing when they’d got on the train. He never saw him unbutton it, not even a button or two to make himself more comfortable. Was he perhaps shy around George? Men often loosened their shirts and pushed up their sleeves in the cigar room after dinner to make themselves more comfortable, and from what George knew about living in poverty like Egan did, men were sharing bath houses and changing rooms. But Egan acted more like a maid in waiting, not even revealing the slightest bit of skin on his arms or legs. As if he knew his thoughts, Egan met George’s gaze, but unlike last time, George was the one to look away.
“Well, we should all get some rest. Tomorrow we have to make our way down to Antonito,” George mumbled, hiding his face behind a map.
“We will need the rest for sure,” he heard Egan worry. “If we make good time, we might be able to continue straight from Antonito to Chama—on the Rio Grande Railroad.”
George peeked over the map to find Egan shake his head in disbelief. Whatever was lying ahead of them clearly troubled him.
“Might there be anything we could do to prepare us for the dangers on that ride ahead of us?” George wondered.
“Keep our guns ready and loaded,” was all Egan countered before stretching out in his bed.
George looked over to Milton who was sitting at the table playing cards with himself. Egan had promised George that he would convince him to return to New York as soon as they reached Denver. This was no place for a child, not even a smart and loyal one like Milton. George was growing less convinced that he should even bring Egan along. The thought of him getting hurt became unbearable to him and drove a sharp sting into his heart every time he revisited that idea. George walked over to turn off the light, except for the one Milton had next to his table.
“Five more minutes, Milton,” he said to him.
Milton drew another card and placed it right in front of himself.
“But I’m winning!” he protested.
George threw him the ‘raised-eyebrow-no-negotiations’ look that a father would use on his child.
“Fine.” Milton rolled his eyes, drawing another card. He didn’t notice that George was still staring at him with a satisfied, faint smile on his lips. What a weird, warming feeling it triggered in him talking to Milton like that. Similar to the love he felt for his sister, but still different. Was he developing the love of a parent for this child? Perhaps a fatherly figure that was lost to the boy in the past? George looked over to Egan who seemed to have fallen asleep. How bizarre his journey in America had become. He had come here to find gold, but so far had found nothing but trouble and more mouths to feed. And worse, he seemed to be falling in love with two boys. One of them in an innocent, parental sort of way. The other one, God, he didn’t even know what to call that. Attrac—no, don’t even think of it! he yelled at himself inside his head.
The room turned darker as Milton turned the light off, but George was still wide awake, staring at the train’s wooden ceiling into darkness. Something odd was definitely happening here. And if he wasn’t more careful, his financial desperation would turn into the least of his worries.
Emily was sitting in the parlor car, waving the waiter for another glass of champagne. Rage bottled up inside her. Never, not once in her life, had a man rejected her. All she had to do was blink, and they’d fall onto their knees and beg to be of service. The line of broken hearts she had left behind was as long as the train tracks from New York to Denver. This rejection was the absolute worst feeling she had ever experienced—period. To her, even losing her own mother was not as painful as the feeling of not getting what she wanted. Who did George Astley think he was to reject her? He needed money; everybody knew that. The whispers of an attractive duke at the brink of ruin had made its way to American heiresses long before he had even set foot onto this continent. When she ran into him at the hotel in New York, she knew at first sight that this was the man she would marry. Not only was he the duke of one of the oldest houses in England, but his looks and charms were something no sane women could ever resist. She didn’t care if he was an honorable or kind man, faithful or not. All she cared about was his title and his looks and she swore to herself the night she met him that she would possess him, no matter the cost. Admittedly, never had she felt anything for another person but herself. But whenever George smiled at her, a soft sultry tingling spread through her stomach, the closest she would probably ever get to feeling love.
Unfortunately, she didn’t get that smile even a tenth as often as this insufferable guide of his. If Emily didn’t know better, one could almost think him in love with him. She hated this young, big-mouthed boy. Both of them. If it wasn’t for keeping face in front of George, she would have had this guide boy thrown off the train the moment he voiced his opinion over that silly business with the savages. How dare he reprimand her in public! No one was allowed to talk to Emily Wayne like this.
Emily felt the trembles of hatred rushing through her body again when she noticed a small crowd gathering around a pole outside the window of the parlor car. People were shouting in excitement, laughing out loud.
“What is all this noise about?” she barked angrily into the train car demanding an answer.
“The commoners are delighting over a warrant,” a gentleman dressed in a fine black tailcoat explained, making his way over to her. He was in his thirties and quite handsome. Emily scanned him head to toe, instantly dismissing him as a candidate for marriage. He was no George Astley.
“The train that caught up with us from New York. It carried warrants for the Silverton heiress. They are spreading them everywhere,” he said in the usual snobbish tone of society holding up a piece of paper.
“Of the Silverton Empire?” Emily inquired curiously.
“As incredible as it sounds.” The man raised an eyebrow, handing the poster to her.
Emily shifted her gaze toward it when in seconds, her whole body shot up from her seat. “Impossible!” she shouted, her eyes and mouth wide open. Her legs almost gave out, shaking, breathless, letting herself fall backwards into her chair again. “This c-can’t be!” she stuttered, her face full of manic joy.
The gentleman narrowed his eyes in curiosity.
“Are you acquainted?” But Emily had no eyes nor ears for him as her spirits lifted from the dark place she was in moments ago up high into the sky.
“I have never met her, fe
w were lucky enough to have moved in her circles, but this will certainly cause gossip for centuries to come,” she heard the man bubbling in the far distance, her mind and gaze still glued to the piece of paper in her hands.
“I doubt she will be alive that long,” Emily rejoiced, clearly confusing her new friend.
“May I?” the man asked politely putting his hand onto the chair across from her.
“No,” she declared in an arrogant voice, “you may not.” Her usual, fake smile had made its way back to her lips, making her blue eyes sparkle like little stars before she added: “Now will you excuse me; I have some business to attend to.”
When Esther opened her eyes that morning, George and Milton were already up looking out the window. George was wearing a khaki colored sable brushed cotton vest and matching trousers over a white dress shirt and lace up leather boots. His new look was topped off by a black cowboy hat and a gun holster with two guns. He looked like a real cowboy. As long as he didn’t speak with that sexy, elegant accent of his, people could mistake him for a local who had just gotten on the train from the frontier. A far cry from what you’d expect of a duke from England.
“To remove the target sign off my back.” He threw Esther a wink.
“What time is it?” she asked rubbing her eyes. This was the first time in weeks that she had slept through the night. Maybe that was due to the fact that she was actually lying on a real mattress instead of the floor, George in the room or not. Back home, the kids would always get the bed while Esther rested next to them on the floor. Funnily enough, one by one, they would come down to sleep cuddled up next to her and when she woke up in the morning, she would be walled in by five kids—well, four, as Milton would sleep on the floor as well but in one of the corners a few feet away from them. A heavy knot formed in her throat. She missed the children horribly, but she was doing this for them as much as for herself.