A Touch of Camelot (5 page)

The girl threw a last, rattled glance over her shoulder. "Fine and dandy!"

Then the mice were scurrying once more, this time across the busy street. Cole winced as they just missed being run down by a passing buckboard, and then he turned to look at the closed door of the constable's office.

Everything appeared peaceful, but Cole guessed that if he were to enter that office, he would probably find one spitting-mad peace officer. According to his agency's report, the deputy they'd left behind in Garden City had been found gagged, hog-tied, and locked up securely inside his own jail cell.

Cole caught one last glimpse of the Pierces before they vanished into the alley from which he'd just emerged. He grinned and sprinted across the street after them.

He emerged from the alley into a yard that opened onto the flat prairie beyond. Except for the two escapees and one lone stallion tethered by the rear of a dry goods store, it was deserted. This was the perfect opportunity for a heist.

Cole approached as Gwendolyn boosted her young brother into the saddle. This had to be one of those golden moments in law enforcement he'd always heard about. He just wondered if anyone back at the Chicago office would believe him when he turned in his report. "Uh, ma'am?"

She jumped and whirled, one hand at her throat. "Holy Moses! It's you!"

He offered a smile to put her at ease. "Is there something I can help you with? You look a little put out."

"Put out? Why, no. You just startled me. Do you make a habit of sneaking up on people from behind like that?"

Cole noted with more than passing interest that, although she was petitely built, she appeared to be nicely endowed up top. Perhaps this assignment wouldn't be so dull, after all.

"As a matter of fact," he replied, "I do like to sneak up on people from behind. You'd be surprised at what I catch some of them doing."

She merely gave him an arch look before turning her back and gathering up her skirts. "I’m sorry, but we're in a hurry." As she swung up onto the stallion behind her brother, Cole couldn't help noticing that she also had a pair of mighty fine legs to go with the rest of her.

Cole took hold of the reins, pointedly delaying their departure. "Ma'am? There's just one more thing."

"What's that?"

With his free hand, Cole reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a pair of gleaming silver handcuffs. "That horse you're stealing? It's mine."

Chapter Three

Topeka Train Station, Topeka, Kansas

The spacious dining hall teemed with Midwestern society in all of its varied shapes and sizes. Businessmen in expensive suits, ladies in fine traveling clothes, drummers, cowboys, farmers, and children. They dashed about willy-nilly, casting hurried glances at their pocket watches, hailing busy waiters, waving and bellowing and embracing in fond farewells.

Gwin sat, restless and stewing, on a stool next to Cole Shepherd and Arthur at the bar in the dining area. She'd barely touched the food on her plate. This was because she'd been unable to resist staring at Cole Shepherd's handsome profile as he'd blithely shoveled away his own midday meal.

She was entranced by the lines and angles of his princely face despite her efforts to be objective.
Lancelot
. Gwin had recognized him immediately. How could she not? Hadn't he lived in her dreams for as long as she could remember?

Cole stabbed a piece of beefsteak with his fork and turned to catch her gaze before she could look away. He gave her an infuriating grin. "What's the matter, Miss Pierce? Do I have gravy on my chin?"

Gwin scowled. "No. Why do you ask? Do you normally dribble at meals?"

He shrugged and turned back to his plate. "It's just that you've been staring at me ever since we sat down. Either I've got gravy on my chin or you've fallen in love with me."

Before Gwin could retort, the blast of a train's whistle cut the air. She heard the rhythmic chufa-chufa of a locomotive's steam engine as it pulled into the depot and turned her head in time to see the Union Pacific Express come to a squealing halt in front of the open dining hall. The number on the side of the engine read 840. This was the train that, if Cole Shepherd had his way, would carry the three of them most of the distance to San Francisco. This was the train that, if Gwin had her way, would pull out of this station without them.

"You've barely touched your lunch, Miss Pierce."

The young Pinkerton detective wore an expression so insufferably patronizing, Gwin felt an urge to punch him right in the nose. Instead, she gave him a chilly smile. "If I wanted motherly advice, I'd ask for it, Shepherd."

"Okay, but you might be sorry later. We won't be getting off the train again until the dinner hour. You should take a lesson from your little brother here."

Arthur sat on a stool to Shepherd's right, ignoring them both and shoveling food into his mouth as fast as he could swallow. It mattered not to Arthur's growing-boy stomach what sort of dire situation they might be in.

Gwin looked back at Shepherd to find those intelligent, tawny brown eyes settled on her. It was unnerving. She avoided his gaze by picking up her fork and playing with her eggs. He had her at a crippling disadvantage, even if he didn't know it. How could she think straight if she was constantly confronted with those eyes, that face?

She supposed she could blame this on Emmaline. While she might have been a less-than-perfect mother, she was one humdinger of a storyteller. Even before Gwin had started to talk, Emmaline had regaled her daughter with dazzling bedtime stories; stories of kings and queens, princes and princesses, sorcerers, dragons, and white knights. Among Emmaline's favorites had been the King Arthur legends. She had told them to her young daughter so many times that it was no wonder Gwin's childhood dreams had begun to revolve around the fantasy.

Over the years, the characters in these recurring dreams had taken on familiar faces and personalities. Gwin was always her own namesake, of course, that lady of all ladies, Queen Guinevere. Merlin soon came to resemble Silas. King Arthur as a child inevitably took on the precocious, shining personality of her baby brother. And as for the evil, scheming Morgan le Fay? Why, who else had been better equipped to take that part than Emmaline?

It was Sir Lancelot, however, the greatest of all the knights of the Round Table, who had continued to remain faceless for so many years. The valorous, mysterious knight had rescued her from captivity or death how many times? Fifty? A hundred? And afterward, he would drop to one knee, kiss her hand, and profess his undying love, only to ride off into the sunset on his trusty white steed. After all, what had Gwin as a child known of passion and star-crossed love?

Gwin could not remember exactly when it had been that she had stood as Guinevere on her palace balcony in Camelot, overlooking a jousting tournament on the field below. She could not remember exactly when it had been that her White Knight, victorious in battle, had removed his helmet and turned to gaze up at her.

It had been then that his face had finally been revealed, and that face had been proud and intelligent and handsome and strong. It was nothing short of masculine perfection. What's more, he resembled no one that Gwin had ever known. That face had been her single most sublime creation, the fairest and gentlest and bravest of knights, her lover, her fantasy, her deepest, most intimate secret. He was hers and hers alone.
Until yesterday
.

It was yesterday that her fantasy had come crashing down around her ears. It was yesterday that she had discovered that her knight in shining armor walked in the flesh. Her dream lover had turned out to be, of all the loathsome, vile things to walk and crawl upon the earth, a
Pinkerton man
.

Gwin observed him out of the corner of her eye. His hair was the color of coffee with a splash of cream. It was so thick that it begged to be touched. He topped a lean six feet, and his chest and shoulders were broad enough to catch the attention of any woman with two eyes in her head. He was beautiful. Gwin couldn't think of any other word that fit.

She frowned at her own spoony musings, set down her fork, and threw a quick glance around the dining hall. In this confused melee, it wouldn't be difficult to slip away from Shepherd. The problem was Arthur. Shepherd was keeping an eagle's eye on him. He was apparently bright enough to realize Gwin wouldn't try anything that would entail leaving her brother behind. And so, what Gwin needed was a distraction.

Shepherd was busy scratching out figures into the tally book that he kept tucked into the pocket of his sack coat. She had seen him at this task several times since they'd left Caldwell and was suddenly curious.

"So, what is it you're doing there? Jotting down fond reminiscences of our trip?"

He smiled absently but didn't look up. "Keeping track of expenses. I suggest you finish whatever it is you want from your plate. We'll be leaving in ten minutes."

Ten minutes
. That didn't give her much time. Gwin was running out of ideas. She'd already tried flattery and flirtation and neither had gotten a rise out of him. Unfortunately, Cole Shepherd was a tougher nut to crack than the gullible deputies in Caldwell and Garden City. Gwin thought that even if she had the nerve to strip down to the quick and parade naked before his eyes, his only reaction would be to raise one faintly disapproving eyebrow.
“Miss Pierce, you're liable to catch your death of cold. Now, stop all this nonsense and get dressed.”
She was beginning to wonder if he was even human.

"You wouldn't have any objections to a lady freshening up before boarding, would you?"

He looked up from the tally book, his pencil poised over the paper. "You have five minutes, Miss Pierce. If you aren't back in five minutes, I'll come get you."

Gwin slid off the stool, clutching her reticule primly. "Your lack of trust is most disappointing."

She didn't give him a chance to reply as she made her way into the crowd. She glanced back only once to see that he had swiveled around on his stool to track her. His face was expressionless as he tucked his tally book back into his coat pocket, affording only a glimpse of the Colt revolver holstered at his hip. Oh, he was a suspicious one, all right.

Gwin sent him a smile and wave before continuing to push through the crowd to the convenience rooms where a line of hot, restless women had formed. She took her place behind a hook-nosed woman clutching a Bible to her chest and fanning herself with a temperance pamphlet entitled "Demon Rum: Scourge of Mankind."

After a moment, she rose up on her toes to see that Shepherd had finally turned his back to her. Good. She scanned a nearby crowd of travelers to size up the pool of possibilities and picked out an elegantly dressed, gray-haired gentleman.

She watched as he pulled a gold watch from his vest pocket and listened to the lilting tone of a deep Southern accent as he replied to the inquiry of a passerby. "It is now exactly eleven thirty-eight, sir."

Perfect. Gwin checked Shepherd's position once more before starting in the man's direction. When she was close enough, she brushed against him and dropped her reticule.

"Oh!" She wrung her hands and slipped into her best Dixie accent. "I declare to goodness! I am at my wits' end!"

The gentleman swooped in immediately to retrieve her bag. "My pardon, ma'am. Allow me."

Gwin gushed and fluttered. "I am most grateful to you, sir. I can tell by your impeccable manners and elegant appearance that you are a true Southern gentleman."

The man's full gray mustache twitched modestly as he removed his hat and swept into a gracious bow. "Colonel Samuel T. Smythe at your service, ma'am."

"You wouldn't be boarding the eight forty, would you, Colonel?"

"I would indeed."

Gwin raised a hand to her bosom. "It is such a comfort to know that."

"Is there a problem, ma'am?"

"Well, I ..." Gwin twisted the strings of her reticule and forced a tear to slide down her cheek. "I do hate to trouble you, but I'm traveling alone to San Francisco with my young brother." She brushed the tear away with the back of her hand.

"Yes? Please, go on." Colonel Smythe produced a handkerchief and offered it to her.

"It's just that there's this gentleman—well, no, I'd hardly call him a gentleman."

"Has someone been accosting you, ma'am?"

Gwin dabbed at her eyes. "Why, I declare! How could you know?"

"It’s apparent by your expression that you are in dire straits."

"That I am, sir. There's a man who has been forcing his company on me and my brother ever since we arrived at the station. I have tried to be polite, but it seems that he has mistaken good manners for something more. I asked him to leave us alone. Do you think I should speak with the management?"

The colonel glowered. "Why, this is unconscionable! These damn Yankees! Where is he?"

"It's that man seated by the—" Gwin stopped in midsentence. There was Arthur, in plain sight, his back to her as he finished off his second helping of beefsteak and fried eggs, but the stool next to him was empty.

"Which man did you say, ma'am?"

"I... I..." Gwin was thrown off keel. Where was Shepherd? He had been there only a second ago. She started to get a bad feeling.

She felt a hand close around her elbow from behind. It was a firm grip, an authoritative, possessive grip, and Gwin stiffened. His presence, his unmistakably masculine person, towered over her from behind.

"Has this young lady been bothering you, sir?"

Gwin twisted around to glare up at Shepherd, but his attention was fixed on Colonel Smythe. Except for that unrelenting grip he had on her arm, he was ignoring her, talking over her head as if she were an errant child.

Smythe sputtered, confused. "Bothering me? Why, certainly not. How could such a lovely young lady be bothering me?"

"Oh, good. You see, I thought for a moment I'd lost her." He offered his free hand to the confused man. "Cole Shepherd, Pinkerton's Detective Agency, Chicago."