The Color of Ivy (3 page)

Finding
a seat, he dropped his tall frame down into it and crossed his legs at the ankles, then gave his Stetson a tug and pulled it low over his eyes.  A couple more hours were left before they stopped at the Sudbury Junction.  There was no need to apprehend her now.  It would only cause commotion and fear in the rest of the passengers.

Most criminals were fairly harmless if their identity remained concealed.  It was only after the
y had blown their cover that the threat of being arrested made them a risk.

Though he had let
Ivy McGregor know he was aware of her identity, he didn’t feel she would be a threat to anyone on board the train.  She was a tall frail looking woman, and hardly the image one associated with such a crime she was suspected of committing.  And though Sam knew better than to judge actions based on appearances, he had no concerns about her fleeing.  She wasn’t going anywhere until they reached the Junction.  He might as well wait it out and catch some much needed rest.

He grinned suddenly,
pulling the brim of his hat low over his brow.  Hell, the woman could barely out walk him, let alone run.  This would be one of his easiest captures.

* * *

She had to get off the train.  Breathing was becoming difficult.  Almost next to impossible.  She paused in the vestibule and flattened herself against the door.  Drawing in a ragged breath, she stared out the window.  Nothing but trees whizzed by.

Le
aning forward, she peered through the glass and down at the earth rushing past.  She would surely break a leg if she jumped now.  Biting her bottom lip, she glanced back through the vestibule and into the car where she left Sam Michalski.  He had settled into a seat and made himself comfortable.

Anger, swift and heated, filled her chest.  She knew from the moment she laid eyes on him, he was not to be trusted.

He knew who she was.

She had to stop him.  She hadn’t come this far only to have some high-handed cowboy ruin it all.  The
Radford’s had given her a chance to clean the slate and start over.  If they discovered she had deceived them, she would be back where she started.  On the run.

Though life with the
Radford’s wasn’t grand, at least it resembled an ounce of normalcy.  And all Ivy wanted was to get on with her life.  Leave the past, and Chicago, behind.

She pressed her back against the steel door and felt the train’s vibrations.  It was moving quickly, delivering her to a new destiny, a new life.  A new beginning.

Opening her eyes, she stared at the black Stetson tilted low over Sam Michalski’s head.  He represented her old life.  If she had stayed, they would have surely crushed her.  If they caught her, they were certain to kill her.

Determination
flooded her veins.  Survival instincts kicked in.  She would not allow Sam Michalski to cheat her of a future.

A kerosene lamp swung on a hook inside the vestibule.  She reached for it
, then slid the car door open.  The train rattled causing her to lose her balance momentarily.  She managed to right herself and pull the heavy door shut behind her.  Then very quietly, so as not to disturb him, she approached his slumbering form.

She really hadn’t suspected he was sleeping, but still felt a startled jolt when he said beneath the Stetson, “Wised up and dec
ided to turn yourself in, Ms. McGregor?”

Ivy did not respond.  Instead, she began to tremble.  Terribly.  Which only increased tenfold when he
sat up and pushed the rim of his hat away from his face.

“Mighty smart move—“

Before she could allow him to finish the sentence, she swung the lamp with all the force she could muster and made contact with his temple.  With a soft thump, he collapsed back against his seat.  A tiny trickle of blood oozed out from beneath his hairline.  She waited a heart-stopping moment to ensure he was out cold.

Or dead.

Swiftly, before anyone should happen to enter the empty car, she pulled his Stetson down low, concealing the evidence of blood.  Then glancing over her shoulder and making certain she had no eyewitnesses, she slipped hurriedly out of the car.

Chapter 3

Sam pried his heavy lids open.  Damn, the side of his head throbbed.  What the devil happened?  Reaching up, he rubbed his temple and glanced about the car.  It was still empty.  He froze.  Recollection came swift.

Ivy McGregor.

He swore and sat bolt upright, but the pain in his head had him grimacing and swaying backward.  Sliding his fingers beneath his Stetson, they came back stark red.  Blood red.

He cursed savagely and gave the blood a vicious scrub on his denim clad leg before slamming his hat back on
his head.  On the verge of springing to his feet, the sight outside his window had him stopping cold in his tracks.

The sun no longer sat in the eastern sky shining brightly overhead.  It was now making a slow and leisurely de
scent toward the opposite side of the earth.  But more importantly than that, the train was no longer moving.

He
leaped to his feet, ignoring the lingering pain in his temple.  Where the hell were they?  Grabbing his duster, he hurried down the car’s corridor and threw open the vestibule’s sliding door.  Inside, a porter was returning a boarding stool from the terminal’s platform.

“Where are we?” he asked, slipping his arms into his coat.

“Sudbury Junction, sir.”

“How long?”  He held his breath, waiting for the answer.

“We are just about to leave.  Everyone has reboarded.”

“Did a redheaded woman disembark?”

“Not that I noticed.”

Sam spun around and headed straight for the car Ivy
McGregor shared with the Radford’s.  Half walking, half running, he pushed past passengers not very pleased to make room for him.  As he neared their compartment, he saw Mrs. Radford’s outrageous hat first, then her husband sitting across from her. 

But no
Ivy McGregor.

Not that he expected to see her, but still he cu
ssed silently before shoving his head inside the compartment and demanding, “Where is she?”

Harold Radford looked taken back.  “Who?”

“Ivy McGregor.”

“Who the devil is Ivy
McGregor?”

“Your maid.  Where is she?”

“We have no maid by the name of Ivy McGregor, sir.”  Harold Radford looked at Sam as if he were a raving lunatic.  “What on earth are you going on about?”

“Moira James,” he gro
und out.  “Where is she?”

“What in heavens do you need with her?”  Allison Radford declared.

Sam ignored her question and demanded with more force, “Where the blazing inferno is she?”

“Good Lord!” 
Clutching a hand over her chest, she pulled back as if expecting Sam to strike her.

“Where is Moira James?”

Harold Radford scooted over to his wife’s side and draped a protective arm across her shoulders.  “I imagine in the lavatory where she’s spent most of her time on this trip thus far.”

Sam turned and bolt
ed for the front of the car where the ladies washroom was located.  Lifting a fist, he pounded on the door.  “Open up!”

“Good God, sir!”  Harold Radford followed him into the aisle
and watched Sam with a look of horror.  His wife peered behind him, eyes huge as she stared up at Sam as if he were the criminal.  “What in the world do you think you are doing?”

“Return to your seats.  Please.”  He
spat out just as the train’s very loud and very clear whistle filled the compartment.  Damnation.

Seizing
the handle, he pushed open the door to reveal an empty stall as he suspected.  Cussing under his breath, he pivoted quickly sliding the door to the vestibule open with more force than was necessary.  He moved swiftly to the next car and the next lavatory.  It was no surprise to him to find it empty as well.

At the opposite end, a door opened and
yet another bloody porter appeared.  This one was old and bony with shallow cheeks and a thinning hairline hardly noticeable beneath his cap.

Christ, Sam had never seen so many porter’s on one train before. 
The eight fleet of cars likely had something to do with that.  But they sure as hell always seemed to be in his path and his way.

I
ntent on pushing past him, Sam came to an abrupt halt when he noticed just over the old man’s left shoulder, the top of a copper-colored head.  Releasing a long drawn out sigh of relief, he advanced toward the porter.

But j
ust as he neared, the woman he firmly now believed was Ivy McGregor, peered around the frail looking man and spotted Sam.  Her ghost like eyes rounded and the blood drained from her face, but she did not turn and run.  Instead, she lifted a shaky hand and pointed a finger at Sam.

“That’s him,” she said in a rather firm voice considering the unguarded fear in her expression.  “That’s the man who
’s been stalking me.”

This brought
Sam, literally, to a screeching halt.  The porter frowned before turning to block the copper-haired woman.  “Excuse me, sir.  Have you been harassing this woman?”

“You’ve got to be kidding?”
he muttered more to himself than those around him.  Fine, if this was the game she wanted to play, so be it.

“We don’t tolerate such
behavior on our railroad line.”

The skin around the corner of
Sam’s eyes creased as he narrowed his gaze on the woman.  “Is that the story she’s using?”

“We have a very long and tiring ride ahead of us, and we expect our passengers to behave in a cordial and moral manner.  If you cannot adhere to these rules, then I’ll have to ask you to remove yourself from this train.”

“Oh, I plan on doing that,” he said.  “But not without her.”

“Ye’re a raving lunatic!” she declared in a false cry of innocence.

“Still the same, you’re coming with me.  Willingly or not.”

“I’ll not be going anywhere with ye,” she said
, shuffling backwards.

He instinctively took a step forward, intent on going after her, but the porter raised a bony hand as if to halt him.

“Now just stop right there, young man.”

“Listen,” Sam said between clenched teeth.  “I’m not here to make trouble, so just step aside and let me do my business.”

“I’m sorry, but I cannot do that.  The lady has made a formal complaint and feels her safety is at risk.  It is my duty to ensure all passengers are not only comfortable, but also safe.  I’m sure you can understand that.”

“Too damn well,” he growled,
wondering what the old man would think if he knew exactly who he thought he was protecting.  But for the porter’s safety and those of the other passengers, it was best he did not.  The way things were unravelling though, Sam wondered how much longer he could keep her identity under wraps.  The train gave an unexpected lurch, indicating it had just pulled out of the station.

Sam swore.  Apparently, not too long.

“Then you will appreciate her concern and leave her be.”  The old porter gestured toward the back of the car.  “Now, if you could please return to your seat.”

Sam took a quick glance outside the window and groaned inwardly as the station slowly slip
ped out of view.  Hardening his tone of voice, he told him, “I ain’t going nowhere except off this train with my—”

“I’ve asked you nicely, sir.”  The
man’s own voice grew stern and the frown on his face had turned into a scowl the same moment he reached for something behind him.

Sam had his gun out of his holster and pointed directly at the old man long before he was able to lift a single
bony finger.  Elbow straight, Sam aimed it squarely at the man’s chest.  A frown drew the porter’s large wrinkled forehead out from beneath his cap, but otherwise did not move.

Christ, Sam hated bystanders.

From the corner of his eye, he could see the copper-haired woman take another step.  “Ma’am, I suggest you don’t make another move.”

She froze.

“Now, if you could kindly move this way,” he told her while keeping the gun strained on the porter.  With his peripheral vision, he kept a watchful eye on the small audience they had begun to grow.  He hadn’t wanted this.  He preferred apprehending his criminal quietly and with no fuss.

“Who are you?” the porter asked, clearly alarmed now.  “What are you after?  A ransom?”

“You could say that.”  Sam glanced out the window and noticed the train picking up speed.  No time for small talk or explanations.

Moving his attention to the copper-haired woman, he said, “Ma’am?  I’d like for us to get off this train nice and calmly.  When we reach our destination, you can relish in the spotlight all you like.  But for now, you will come willingly and quietly.  However, if
you insist on creating a production, be well warned, I will resort to physical force if needed.”

To his surprise
, her eyes rounded not in fear as he would have suspected, but pure unadulterated rage.  “How dare ye threaten me?”

“Easily.  Now, if you wouldn’t mind, move that sweet little rump over here so we can
disembark from this bloody train.”

“Just hold on now,” the porter said, still not willing to surrender Ivy so easily.  “Let’s try and talk this over. 
Can we not come to some type of understanding?  I’m sure we can agree on some form of negotiation.”

Sam could feel the train pick up speed.  Ah, hell.  Narrowing his gaze to appear more threatening, he said, “Stop the damn train.”

“Please, sir, try and be reasonable.”

“Listen,
Gramps” Sam barked, “I would love nothing more than to sit over a cup of coffee discussing the matter with you, but quite frankly, I don’t have the damn time.  So could you so kindly stop this goddamn train? 
Now.
”

To Sam’s surprise, the man
unexpectedly straightened, looking younger than his ninety something years, looked Sam in the eye and informed him, “I cannot do that.  I cannot allow you to take this woman unwillingly from the train.”

Christ, Sam hated damn heroes.  Now he’d have to get nasty.

Raising the barrel end of his gun, he aimed it directly between the man’s eyes and snarled, “Stop this train, or I’ll blow a hole straight through your brain.”

Allison Radford let out a cry
, then collapsed at her husband’s feet, while another passenger made a hasty exit out of the car.

The porter continued to stand there maintaining eye contact with Sam.  Then when Sam thought he would not
relent, he finally buckled under Sam’s hard gaze and stepped aside.  “I’m sorry, ma’am.  I have a wife and grandchildren to consider.”

Then to Sam, “You’re going to regret this young man.”

“Hell, I already am,” Sam muttered, recalling how simple he had thought this capture would be.

His attention shot to the copper-haired woman and noticed the anger in her eyes was swiftly replaced by fear.  Immediately, he went on edge.  She was going to flee.  He could feel it.  Even from a moving train.  Damn.

Sure enough, she turned and bolted for the vestibule.  Without hesitation, Sam dived for her.  But to his surprise, the porter intervened, throwing his brittle frame in front of Sam and blocking his way.

“Ah
damnation,” Sam grumbled, before releasing a low growl and bringing the butt end of his gun down hard against the man’s temple.  The old man went down in a heap in the middle of the aisle.  Some females began screaming, but Sam ignored them and charged after his suspect.

She
had just passed through the vestibule when he intervened her escape into the next car.  “Not so fast, Freckles.  You aren’t going anywhere just yet.”

With
practiced ease, he reached for her, but was startled when she easily sidestepped him.  He only allowed the shock to register briefly.  Apparently the woman was more of a professional criminal than he expected.  Escaping the clutches of the law, it seemed, came far too easily.

No matter how fast she was, however, Sam was quicker and was successful in snatching her arm in his hand the second time around.  He was
briefly taken aback by the mere flesh his fingers encircled.

Not surprisingly, she automatically tried
to wrench her arm free.  “Let go of me!”

“‘Fraid I can’t do that.”

Ignoring the fact it felt as if he may snap her tiny arm in half, he pulled her roughly back into the car.  Hell, he couldn’t believe something so tiny could be so tough.  And soft.

He frowned at this last thought.  He hadn’t wanted to
notice the fact her slender arm felt so delicate, so warm.  So fragile.  It made him coil in anger.

With his mind momentarily distracted, he realized too late
, she had gone still.  Then, before he could even glance back, a set of very sharp teeth sank deep into his hand.

“Jesus!” he bellowed, yanking his hand free and
unconsciously releasing her.

She turned and bolted.