A Texan’s Honor (13 page)

But to this? To being outside in the elements in the dead of night? With only him guarding her? With hardly half a plan?

At the moment, Will wished for a cheroot or even the harsh, stinging relief of a shot of whiskey.

Naturally, neither of those vices were available, and he doubted he'd even be able to take another drink anyway— he'd forced himself to stop just six months after the war. The alcohol had merely reminded him of what he'd become. And of everything that he wasn't.

But as Jamie huddled next to him, he knew he was going to have to face some serious truths. One of them was that he was now responsible for Jamilyn Ellis, no matter what. Her life was in his hands, and he couldn't discount that. Even if she was afraid of him.

In the distance, he listened to the last echoes of the train fade away and wondered if Scout realized that they'd jumped. And if he had noticed, what would he do? Would he do his best to keep the rest of the men in the dark, or would Scout show his true colors and double-cross him?

Will was inclined to believe that Scout would sound an alarm. After all, that was what was expected, and though there might be something decent in the infamous outlaw, Will had seen him kill without compunction and lie at the drop of a hat. But then a faint memory entered his mind. He remembered the look of wonder and regret on Scout's face whenever he stared at Jamie. It looked to have nothing to do with lust and everything to do with past aches.

So maybe Scout had kept his word and had stayed silent a little longer. Every moment he waited would increase their chance of survival tenfold.

"Mr. McMillan?" Jamie said softly.

"It's Will, remember?"

"Will, is it safe yet?"

He wanted to tell her that there was nothing safe about their circumstances. She was an unmarried, innocent woman in the hands of a known member of an outlaw gang. The temperatures were hovering at the freezing mark, and they had little food and water, no horse, and no real plans.

But of course he couldn't say any of that. Their circumstances didn't matter all that much. "The train's long gone," he said, knowing that his answer had little to do with her question.

"Do . . . do you think they know we're gone?"

"If they don't, they'll know soon."

She shifted, a small sound of pain accompanying her movements, reminding him of how delicate she was. "How badly are you hurt?" he asked, not even giving her the chance to pretend she wasn't injured.

"I don't know. My ankle seems swollen, but it might simply be sprained."

Or broken. It would just be his luck if it was broken.

Getting to his feet, his muscles screamed. His body hadn't appreciated their jump from the train either. "Let's get you to your feet and then we'll see if we can't find some shelter." Bending down, he reached for her hand.

After a moment, she slipped her hand into his. As carefully as possible, he helped her to her feet. When she stumbled, he wrapped an arm around her waist.

She gasped, then melted into his grip. He pretended he didn't notice how fine her figure was, or how right it felt to hold her. Embarrassed, he covered his feelings with a veil of gruffness. "You okay now, Miss?"

"I'm steady," she replied, showing she too was becoming adept at providing the right answers to the wrong questions. "You may remove your hand now."

With some surprise, he noticed that he still held her, just as if he had a right to. He dropped his hand like she was on fire, then stepped away for good measure. It didn't make a lick of difference though. Will knew he would never forget the curve of her waist and how right she'd felt tucked next to his side.

"Jamilyn, we need to move. It's dark as sin out here, but come morning we're going to be right next to the tracks." He pointed toward the shadow of a valley in the distance. "I'm not sure, but when the clouds broke I saw what looked like an abandoned house over there. That's where we're going."

"What if someone lives there?"

"Then they'll have to give us shelter, I reckon."

"But what will they think? It's late. . . . We have no horse, nothing." Pure confusion colored her voice, reminding Will of how different he and Jamie were. She saw only honesty; he saw nothing but lies.

"Here's what we're going to tell them. You and me, we're married. And a few miles back, our horse turned up lame. We're trying to get to Topeka."

"But—"

The only way they were going to get through this was for him to cut her off and force his agenda to be hers. "There are no 'buts,' Jamilyn. We're out of options and about out of luck. So, get by my side and get ready to lie through your teeth. Because one thing—and only one thing—is for sure. If we don't find somewhere else to be other than in a bramble of bushes next to a train track, we're not going to live to tell any more lies. If some vagrant doesn't shoot us, the temperature will freeze us for sure."

Fear entered her expression once again, reminding them both that they weren't friends. They certainly weren't lovers.

He might have saved her from rape; he might have saved her from certain death; but the fact of the matter was that Will McMillan was her captor and she was his hostage. No matter how kind or decent he was, she was at his mercy.

Sooner or later, his fine idea of getting her off that train was probably going to kill her. They had too much against them and too little in their favor.

Then, without a doubt, her death would be on his shoulders, just like all the others he carried—all the ghosts of his men from the war.

Sure, he might be slightly better than the worst men on this earth, but he was a very far cry from being one of best.

As they started walking, Will wondered if Jamie had realized that yet.

W
here are they?" James Walton yelled, looking from one end of the train car to the other, even stopping along the way to stare down at the three remaining hostages. "Where are McMillan and the woman?"

"It's Jamie," Russell murmured.

Oh Lord, have mercy. Scout shifted on his feet, silently willing Russell, the pup, to keep his mouth shut. Not even on his best day did James Walton want to hear information he never asked for.

And this sure wasn't one of those days.

Predictably, Boss pivoted on one highly polished black boot and glowered at Russell. "What did you say?"

"J . . . Jamie," the boy replied. "That's the woman's name."

No, her name was Jamilyn Ellis, Scout thought to himself, and not even a beautiful name like that was good enough for a woman of such worth. The woman was lovely and delicate and seemed so vulnerable that she brought to mind images of his sister Corrine.

Well, Corrine back before the war had begun.

As Russell trembled under Boss's lethal gaze, Scout cleared his throat. "Seems as though McMillan and the woman jumped off the train."

"And you didn't see them?"

"I did not."

"Sure?"

"Boss, if I had, they wouldn't have gotten far," he lied. Because, well, he'd known that Will would get her off the train. In fact, Scout had certainly hoped he would—getting her off was the only way to save the girl.

"Did you know McMillan was planning to take off?"

Not exactly. "No sir, I did not."

Mr. Walton cursed under his breath. "Why would McMillan leave? Try as I might, I don't understand it."

Scout knew their boss was feeling legitimate confusion. In his mind, he was the leader, and it made no sense to him that someone would undermine his authority.

It was a fair assumption. Most men who crossed James Walton's authority never survived to regret their decision.

But Will McMillan wasn't like most men, that much was evident.

And the woman, well, she wasn't like most, either. There was an innocence and freshness about her that Scout hadn't believed really existed. She was sweet enough to make him think of all kinds of fanciful thoughts, things like nights when the stars were bright and the horizon became so vast and huge that it seemed like the Lord had taken a cloth and smudged out all the boundaries of the world.

However, that wasn't the answer Boss wanted. It also wasn't something Scout wanted to think about, much less share out loud. Weak thoughts led men to make mistakes and to a certain, bloody death. "I don't know why he left."

As the train continued to roll forward, Mr. Walton stared out at the distant plains. Where snow didn't cover the ground, the brush and grasses were brown and flat, packed down and dead from abuse. His lips flattened. "No man takes my property and lives."

As Russell's eyes widened, looking on the verge of kindly explaining to Mr. Walton that neither Jamie nor Will McMillan were technically his property, Scout spoke fast and firm. "No sir, they do not."

"Go find them, Proffitt. Get off this train and track them down."

"And then?"

"And then you will make sure that neither will talk again."

Disbelief made him speak before he thought the better of it. "The woman too?"

"Of course. She's not a woman, Proffitt. She's a witness, and therefore dangerous. If she testifies against us, we'll all be hanged from the nearest trees, and that won't do." Cold dead eyes met his. "She cannot survive. Do you understand?"

There was only one correct answer, and Scout hadn't lived this long by being a fool. "Yes sir, I do."

He turned around before anything more was asked of him, and before he caught sight of the dismay that was surely burning bright in Russell's eyes.

Though, of course, what did any of it really matter? If he followed through on these orders, Scout Proffitt would prove to one and all that there wasn't any decency left in his body nor a shred of compassion in his heart.

He'd long since given up being a man of worth. But it was still hard to realize he'd now become someone to pity.

Though he was still breathing, it was become completely obvious that he might as well be dead. He surely was dead inside.

Will hated his death grip on Jamie's elbow. He hated the harsh way he was speaking to her and the way that she trembled at his touch.

He hated that he was contemplating stealing the horse he saw in the broken-down shanty on the side of the cabin they'd sought for shelter, and he wished he was the type of man who wouldn't dream of hurting others if it meant keeping himself and Jamie alive.

But he was.

Fact was, experience had taught him that surviving meant doing a whole lot of things one never considered when the air was sweet and the future looked obtainable. Yep, a man had to do what he had to do. And he needed to get Jamie to Kansas City and contact Sam Edison of the U.S. Marshals—his real boss.

It had been a difficult thing, agreeing for the last eighteen months to secretly investigate the Walton Gang and James Walton's private agreement with Arthur Jackson of the Kansas Pacific. With each passing day, he'd lost a little bit of his humanity. But he'd lived too long and too hard to put his own interests first. What mattered was the reputation of the Marshals, and of course the safety of the people they served.

The plan had been for him not to get in contact until spring. It was too risky to attempt to report any more frequently than every six months or so.

But taking an innocent woman hostage had changed everything.

What he'd hoped to do was tell Jamie the truth about himself. If, at the very least, she knew he was one of the good guys, Will thought that would go a long way toward making things better between them.

However, at the moment, she was too weary and panicky around him to listen much, and he knew intuitively that she most likely wouldn't believe him anyway.

So he decided to just keep his cover going as long as possible. It was safer for the both of them, especially if anything happened to him. Right now, if a single soul was told that he was undercover, they'd laugh themselves silly before they sliced his throat. Then she'd be even more vulnerable.

As he approached the shack with Jamie by his side, he saw that her mouth was set in a tight line and that pure exhaustion emanated from her body. Again, he wished things had been different. He wished he could be the man she needed— the man he knew he still was under all the layers of lies.

"Someone is in there. A man . . . a man is watching us," she said, her voice breathless. "He's armed."

He'd spied the man a good hundred yards back, when the man had lit a cheroot. However, he'd kept the knowledge to himself. It wouldn't have served any purpose to get her even more uptight and wary. "We are armed too." When he saw her tremble, he tried to soften his tone. "When we get closer, just keep your mouth closed, okay? I'll do the talking. I'll get us through this, I promise."

He stared at her until she nodded.

They were now only about a hundred yards away. It was time to announce themselves. Raising his voice, he called out, "Hello, there!"

The man raised a hand in greeting but still stood at attention. Proving he was no fool.