Romance: JADEN: An MMA Fighter Romance (Bad Boy Tattoo Romance) (New Adult Pregnancy Short Stories) (63 page)

There was no way that her future husband could be anything but worse than those heathens. At least they had the same accent as the city folk. Out in the Wild West, who knew if they even spoke the same language? They had run alongside the savages for so long that they may very well have adopted their language.

A loud tap on the roof caused Alice to startle out of her brooding. She looked around the train car, surprised to see that Gertrude had managed to slip out to get her glass of water without her knowledge.

What had caused that loud noise? Had a bird dropped onto the top of the train? Or perhaps it had been a wayward child throwing rocks at the passing train. It would be typical of heathens to do such a thing.

Huffing out a nearly silent breath, Alice glanced over to gauge the distance that would remain between her and the well-dressed gentleman who was now reading some sort of paper, spectacles perched low on his nose, if she were to straighten herself out and lean her head against the window.

Grimacing, she slowly eased herself into a more comfortable position, realizing that she would cause a crick in her neck if she continued to sit the way she was and continue to look out the window. One foot. She let out another breath. Twelve inches sat between her and the man’s hand. Good, that would be enough, just as long as he didn’t move any closer to her.

She glanced across the woman across the aisle. She had her head leaned back and appeared to be staring blankly at the ceiling. Alice wondered where she was going, but after her earlier rebuff of the woman’s kindness, she doubted she should try to talk to her.

Sighing, she closed her eyes, pressing her temple against the warm glass. Everything was miserably warm on this train; even the water that Gertrude was fetching at the moment would be mediocre in temperature. It would be difficult to sleep in circumstances such as this usually, but the way the train car rocked from side to side made it very easy to close her eyes and deepen her breathing, ease the tension on her forehead and attempt to calm her mind; or perhaps to distract it from her impending doom.

She had forgotten to ask Mother his name, hadn’t she? Alice stiffened, considering opening her eyes to ponder that problem, and then relaxed again a moment later without bothering. No matter, he would single her out fairly quickly once she arrived. He had probably seen her photograph enough to recognize her at a passing glance. There were only so many people in a tiny Western settlement, after all, weren’t there? She could figure it out by asking around.

The door slid open, but the footsteps weren’t Gertrude’s almost silent ones, and Alice could only assume that it was the woman, getting up to fetch her own water, since she didn’t happen to have the convenience of a maid on hand. She sighed once again, pressing her temple harder against the almost-hot glass, wishing that it was the glass of the window in her window seat where she would read the articles on etiquette that Mother would shove into her hands any time she found a book in her daughter’s hands. She would much rather be reading about how to be the perfect wife than preparing to become a less-than-suitable example of one.

The door clicked open again. Alice stirred, preparing to open her eyes. Gertrude would be bringing her water, and she would sip it and seethe in silence just as she was meant to, and she would not complain about her situation because it was not Gertrude’s fault, as much as she wanted to blame it on her maid. If she hadn’t overreacted upon reading the telegram, she wouldn’t have alerted Gertrude to its contents and she would be sitting in that window seat right now—

“What do we have here?”

There had been no footsteps, Alice realized a few moments later—too late—and her eyes flew open. At first, she noticed nothing amiss. The woman and Gertrude were gone, and the man was still reading his book, but as the man who stood at the open door spoke, he looked as if he had been started awake.

The man who stood in the doorway did not immediately identify as ‘train hijacker’ in Alice’s mind, but perhaps that was because she had no clue what one would look like if she happened to look upon them.

He was dressed in a well-worn suit that looked a few sizes too small for his tall and limber frame, but the material was fine; something she would have found in a tailor shop that some of her more well-off friends may have gone to. The pocket watch chain that dangled in a fashionable arc from his vest pocket looked to be made of silver—and not the plated kind, because it was well-worn in places, and still the dull metallic tone of something that needed a good polishing. Even his boots were of fine make; Alice had seen something similar once in a shop window, and the price tag had even made Emma Kindwater fan herself to keep the mixture of heat and shock from causing her to faint. They were made with a special type of leather and shipped overseas.

Alice’s gaze then switched north, towards his face. The first thing she noticed was his hair, which most definitely did not match the rest of his nearly polished appearance. Its unruly waved length just brushed the neatly turned down collar of his suit jacket and fell into eyes so green that Alice had to blink to make sure that she wasn’t imagining this as some sort of possible dream. He was still there and grinning in the most ungentlemanly way at her.

That was when Alice realized that she was still staring. She had met his gaze with nary a blush, and was still glancing over the rest of his face, noting the strong, aquiline line of his nose and the way his cheekbones looked sharp enough to cut high up on his face.

For the first time in her life, Alice had to tear her gaze away, because she could have stared at him all day. She glanced over at the other man, who had dropped his book onto the seat between them and was preparing to stand.

The man who stood before her stopped him with a hand in the air. “None of that.” His other hand had sliced into the fabric of his suit jacket, reaching for something in his pocket. A moment later, a gun appeared, barrel pointed at the man.

Alice should have screamed or leapt up as the man did, but she simply sat there, dumbfounded at the sudden change in events.

“Sir,” the man said amiably, the good-humored smile never leaving his face as he clicked the safety off of the gun and poised his finger over the trigger. “Please remain in your seat while I take your girl.”

The man spluttered, knees falling out from under him. Surprisingly, the first words out of his mouth were, “She-she’s not my woman.”

Alice scoffed as she looked over at him. He couldn’t have pretended to play along; now what chance did she have of being able to remain in her seat?

Would he try to touch her? The shiver that went down her spine wasn’t tinged with the usual fear. It was there, simply because he was holding a gun—which was finally sinking in—but there was only a trace.

The rest of the shiver was focused on an emotion that she had never felt before. It felt nearly forbidden, and she wondered what it was about this strange man who was holding a gun only inches away from her that had caused this sudden, new emotion.

The man threw his head back and laughed, displaying golden teeth that had replaced the molars in the very back of his mouth. “All the better then. I hope that you enjoy your journey to the settlement of Denver, sir and that you will not be missing this.” He held up a small bag that jangled as he shook it. The man spluttered yet again.

“That-that’s my money!” He looked like a walrus when he puffed out his chest like that, Alice thought just before the man tucked the money away and lunged forward, fingers wrapping around her wrist. She shrieked at the unexpected contact, but not because it was unpleasant. His fingers were just this side of worn with callouses and quite cool against the hot and tired flesh of her forearm.

“Let go of me,” she gritted out, wondering what was happening to her in this short matter of time. First she had been able to—no, enjoyed—looking at him, into his eyes, and then she had endured his touch.

“No can do, darlin’,” he said, giving her a grin that quite effectively shut her up and caused her bones to melt into something like candle wax, which made it quite easy for him to pull her up and out of the carriage. His accent was different than any other she had heard before, even with people coming into town from all around the country. It had long, drawn out vowels that sounded like honey being dripped into words and consonants that were much too slurred together for it to be okay, and yet it sounded perfect on the man.

As this stranger dragged her along the rows and rows of compartments, she looked back and saw Gertrude clutching a glass of water, openmouthed and simply staring at Alice.

“Do something,” she hissed at her maid, trying to shake her out of the stupor that she had been put in seeing Alice dragged off by a man sporting a gun and strange accent—and also the power to make her feel as if she were able to bear his touch and looking directly in his eyes.

Gertrude simply stared, her mouth propped comically open. If the situation had been any different, Alice would have taken the liberty to laugh. It may have been rude, but she looked exactly like one of the melodramatic players in an opera.

However, the situation was no different than it currently was, and she was apparently being kidnapped by a man that she didn’t even know the name of, and Gertrude wasn’t doing a single thing about it.

“What is your name, darlin’?” the man asked, tugging her along.

“Let go of my wrist,” Alice said in reply, trying to tug it from his steely grip, but to no avail.

He turned back to her, that damnably beautiful hair falling into his eyes, and despite everything, she had the urge to reach forward and push it off of his forehead so that she could gaze upon his insanely green eyes without the interruption of the light-consuming black of his hair. “Interesting name, darlin’. I must ask, was your mama drunk at the time she had you?” Alice simply gaped at him, unable to think of a comeback quickly enough before he began speaking again. “I believe I shall keep with darlin’, if you do not mind. I find it much better suits you.”

Alice bit her tongue so that she did not curse at him. Infuriating man. Where was he taking her? “And what might your name be?” she asked instead of cursing him a moment later when she had managed to pick up the logical train of thought once again beyond the blinding flash of rage that she had felt.

They paused in front of the door to the next car and the man swept a quick bow that looked much too elegant for a kidnapper. “William Smith, at your service,” he said, doffing a hat that didn’t exist on his head, and then reaching out with his hand once more and clamping it around her wrist. He shoved her through the open door, closing the first one behind her.

Alice felt sick as she saw the ground moving beneath then, with only the closure that kept this car and the next connected to stand in the way of her and it. “Take me back inside,” she shrieked, backing up against—against a hard, muscled body. She shrieked again and leapt forward, only to lose her balance and waver precariously near the edge of the platform that stood between her and certain death.

William—if that was truly his name, it sounded much too common to be his actual name—grasped her around the waist and pulled her tightly against him. She felt her cheeks warm, but it wasn’t fear that made her blood sing. Alice closed her eyes and gritted her teeth on another scream as he leapt over to the next platform. She was not hysterical; she refused to scream, though she truly wanted to.

As the noise and the wind that had blown the intricate braids Gertrude had executed this morning out of their neat and pristine rows abruptly stopped, Alice opened her eyes.

“Are you completely insane?” she asked, beating a fist against William’s chest. “You nearly killed me!”

William frowned down at her, which did nothing to diminish his good looks as it did to her when she wrinkled her forehead. “Dove, I believe I just saved you from your certain death.”

Alice growled out a half-intelligible curse, no longer concerned with looking like a lady and stomped away from William.

“Where are you going?” he asked good-naturedly as she continued towards the end of the car. “Your seat is back there, darlin’.”

“I am aware,” she snapped without turning to face him long enough to spit the three words, and looked into one of the compartments. Empty. She opened it and slid into the seat nearest to her. She closed her eyes and rested her fingers against her forehead, attempting to ease the building pain that was threatening to cause a headache that would split her skull in half. How long had it been since she had gotten one so bad? Oh, yes, that time that her brother had shown up at their doorstep with three drunken angry men on his tail, begging for refuge. Yes, this situation was equally as stressful, so she was entitled to the headache.

She heard William’s boots, low and dense, on the floor of the train, heard him exhale and the jingle of the chain hitting the wooden armrest as he sat down across from her.

“So tell me,” he said after a few moments. “What brings you to the train that we are hijacking?”

Her eyes snapped open and she glared at him from across the space that separated them; not enough, though. She wished that he were across the country. No, she wished that she were back home, away from this accursedly hot train and this enigma of a man. Yes, that sounded much better. “Tell me your reasons for hijacking a train, and I may tell you my reasons.”

“I did ask first.” His tone was light as if this entire thing were a joke to him.