The Stranger's Secrets (11 page)

T
he day was filled with awkward silences, stilted conversations, and unsaid truths. Sarah didn’t know which end was up and being around Whitman was confusing her. She didn’t like that one bit so she pulled out her bitch cloak and put it on.

By the time they pulled into the station, she was ready to get back some control of the situation. When he picked up her bags and held out her hand, she let her claws show.

“Helping the cripple again, are you?” She struggled to her feet, the stiffness in her legs making it more difficult.

“Of course I am. Who else is going to?” Whitman, being the gentleman he was, took hold of her elbow to steady her. She hissed at him.

“I’m not completely helpless, you oaf.” She shook off his touch.

“I realize that, as does my back, which bears the mark of your sharp nails.”

Sarah didn’t know who was more surprised by the slap. She stared at the red imprint on his cheek as his jaw tightened.

She could actually see the wall slide down in place over his eyes. Her heart hiccupped at the sight, but she knew it was necessary for her sanity and his upcoming marriage.

“My apologies, Miss Spalding.” His formal tone told her all she needed to know. “I didn’t realize assisting you was a hanging offense.”

Sarah knew he could throw out barbs just as well as she could, and they stung just as much. “You’re more than welcome to find another cripple to help.”

Although she knew she shouldn’t, Sarah picked up her bags with her left hand and attempted to walk to the door. The weight of the books nearly sent her careening into the compartment wall. She tried to right herself, but the more she struggled the harder it became to simply stand upright. She probably looked like a turtle unable to right itself.

Whitman didn’t ask for permission to help her or wait for her to request any help. He simply snatched the bags out of her hand and scooped her up into his right arm. She couldn’t get a breath in beneath his strong hold, but before she could even muster the words, he’d deposited her on the platform.

His green eyes were like glass, hard and cold. Sarah had done that to their partnership and although she regretted the loss of the ease between them, she wasn’t about to change it.

She couldn’t.

“There they are, right there.” The portly conductor who’d been rude to Sarah on more than one occasion waddled up with another man in tow. “These two are the ones you’re looking for.”

When Sarah saw the star on the other man’s chest, her stomach cramped up and the image of the lawman lying on the platform that morning flew through her mind.

Well, shit.

She met Whitman’s gaze and in an instant knew he already had the same idea she did.

“What’s happening, sir?” Whit used his stuffiest Yankee tone.

The sheriff, a middle-aged man with silver at his temples, peered at them from beneath his flat-brimmed hat. “It appears a man and a woman beat the tar out of the deputy sheriff back in Belleville.”

“Where?” Whit raised one dark brow.

“The last train stop. Got a wire this morning that a big man and a tall woman left the sheriff with a few broken ribs, busted-up jaw, and two black eyes.” He pointed at Whitman. “You’re a big man and she’s a tall woman. Sounds like it was you two. She’s also sporting a big bruise on her cheek.”

Sarah wanted to curse the idiot, but she held her tongue and let Whitman do what he intended. She was enjoying the show.

“Ridiculous and preposterous. Sir, I am Whitman Oliver Kendrick the third from New York City. This lovely lady is my wife, Sarah. We are on our way to Denver to her brother’s wedding. In no way were we responsible for any assault on an officer of the law.” He put a protective arm around Sarah’s shoulders.

She tried to ignore the fact the weight and warmth of his touch were extremely comfortable.

“You sure do talk fancy.” The sheriff peered at him. Sarah could tell by the man’s expression he didn’t believe Whit’s story. She also noted the stiffening of the man’s spine at the Yankee accent.

Time for Sarah to step in.

“Sheriff, can you tell us what happened back yonder?” She made her drawl as Southern sounding as she could. “We might have seen somethin’ that could help y’all.”

The sheriff’s suspicion turned to surprise. “You’re not from New York City, Mrs. Kendrick.”

Mrs. Kendrick.

The name sent a shiver of longing through her. She pushed it aside and focused on saving their asses.

“No, I’m surely not. I’m Virginia born and bred.” She held out her hand. “Sarah S-Spalding Kendrick.” Stumbling over the name, she covered up her mistake with a wide grin. “Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

“Sam Miller.” He shook her hand lightly, the rough calluses attesting to the man’s hard work. Any other time, she might have actually liked the man enough to spend some time with him. But not today.

“How did you get that mark on your face, ma’am?”

“I’m not particularly graceful, Sheriff. I’m afraid I tripped gettin’ on the train this morning.” She tried to look as sweet as possible. “Can you tell us what happened in Belleville?”

“A woman was causing a ruckus on the platform, threatening another woman. The deputy sheriff—his name’s Walter Tipton—tried to stop her. That’s when the man beat him. That’s all I know.” He peered at Sarah. “Tell me why you’re not that woman?”

Sarah swallowed. “I’m not. What did you say she was doin’?”

Sam seemed to think on his response before speaking. “From the wire I got from the depot clerk, she ran screaming toward another woman. Mebbe with a knife.”

This time, Sarah’s laugh was genuine. “Sheriff, that was definitely not me.” She held up the cane. “I’ve been crippled for over ten years. I couldn’t run if my life depended on it.”

He eyed the cane, then turned to the conductor. “You didn’t say anything about her being crippled.”

“I–I didn’t know. She was sitting the whole time and they looked like the folks you was looking for.” He swallowed hard as his face flushed in the evening light.

“If the woman was running, then it was obviously not Mrs. Kendrick.” He tipped his hat to her. “I apologize for bothering you.”

She saw the invitation in his gaze and chose to ignore it. One man in her bed was more than enough.

“No need to apologize. I surely hope you find them.” She looked up at a stony-faced Whitman. “Let’s get to the hotel, Whit.”

With a tight nod at the sheriff, Whit took her arm and started walking down the platform. Sarah felt the sheriff’s eyes on her. The man was definitely not as stupid as Whitman probably thought he was.

They’d do well to keep out of sight until the train left in the morning.

Whitman didn’t have any right to be jealous, but dammit to hell, he was. The way she fluttered her lashes at the idiot sheriff made him want to tear the man’s arms off. Then beat him with them. Of course, he didn’t. It was bad enough he’d already beaten the hell out of one lawman; he didn’t need to do it again.

What was wrong with him? It didn’t matter if Sarah flirted with or had sex with a man of her choosing. He had no claim on her and no right to judge her choices. After all, he’d cheated on his fiancée.

He walked stiffly beside her as they made their way to the hotel. The idiot conductor was behind them, still red faced and suspicious. The way Sarah had taken hold of the situation told Whit she knew exactly how to be charming. It was a different side of her, one he hadn’t seen before.

Apparently she reserved the too honest, sharp-tongued version of herself for him. Did that make him special or unlucky? He didn’t know and, at that point, couldn’t even try to figure it out.

Whitman was angry and flustered, two emotions he wasn’t used to letting loose. Control was an integral part of his life for the last fifteen years. He was uncomfortable with losing that iron grip on control. Sarah had snatched it away from him.

By the time they reached the hotel, he had calmed down a little, but not enough. Whitman needed to get away from Sarah for a few hours. She confused him, kept him spinning in circles. He’d never met a woman who had the power she wielded with a master’s touch.

The hotel was a bit nicer than the last one. At least there was a larger restaurant and a well-appointed lobby. It made Whitman breathe a little easier because it was familiar. Since he’d lived in New York as a young man, and in military headquarters in Washington as an adult, clean, orderly buildings were what he was used to. Strangely enough, it was almost comforting.

Sarah glanced around the lobby, her gaze narrowing. “Keep an eye out for Mavis. She’s got a lot to answer for.”

Whit was startled to realize he’d forgotten about the older woman and what she’d done. She had started a sequence of events that led Whit and Sarah to miss the train, Sarah to be beaten, and the two of them to be almost arrested and jailed.

Not to mention the emotional and mental strain of the last two days.

He should never forget what Mavis had done, because it tested him. Honestly it tested his fortitude, his cunning, and his intelligence. Even with taking short naps on the train, he was simply exhausted. He hadn’t really slept since their first stop on the train west.

As they checked in, he was pleased there was a first-floor room available for Sarah. He couldn’t touch her anymore that day. The overload was dragging him into a dark hole he needed to climb out of.

“Do you need help going to your room?” His voice was hoarse with exhaustion and emotion.

Sarah cocked one brow. “Let’s have supper first. Then we can go to our room.”

He stared at her, not recognizing what she said. “What are you talking about?”

“Married couples share hotel rooms, Mr. Kendrick.” Her dry sarcasm felt like a slow scrape.

The idea he had to spend the night in the hotel room with Sarah hadn’t occurred to him. However, with the sheriff watching them, the conductor literally five feet from them, and the threat of arrest hanging over them, they had to keep up appearances as a married couple.

He swallowed the lump in his throat. What was he supposed to do? Whitman was completely out of his element and he damn sure needed to get his footing back.

“Of course, Mrs. Kendrick. I need to stretch my legs and take a walk.” He took the key from her hand. “I’ll just put our bags in the room.”

Sarah tugged at his arm. “We need to talk.”

Whitman couldn’t imagine sitting down and trying to talk about what had happened. He could barely think about it. “I don’t care.”

Before she could say another word he walked off toward the room, away from the woman who haunted him, day and night. He knew he was actually running from Sarah, but he didn’t want to admit it even to himself.

Sarah stared at Whitman’s back as he disappeared from view. She wanted to throw something at him, shout insults, or maybe whack him with her cane. Yet she let him walk away without a word leaving her mouth.

When they’d stood on the platform facing the sheriff, she thought for certain they would be in jail in minutes. However, together they became stronger than standing alone. His intelligence and her Southern charm mixed together to create something wonderful.

It was the first time she could remember working as a team with a man. Her brother, Micah, had loved her, but he was a childhood playmate. She didn’t know him as an adult, hadn’t seen him in so long. Thinking about getting to know him was a bit intimidating but she was looking forward to it.

Whitman, however, was a different situation. Thrown in together on a train had been an accident, a twist of fate. It hadn’t been her choice to meet him, get tangled up with him, and fall half in love with him.

Whitman was just a man, a Yankee, and his dismissal shouldn’t hurt. She’d be lying to herself if she didn’t admit that it had hurt. Much more than it should for a man she’d known only five days.

“Mrs. Kendrick?”

The hotel clerk’s voice startled her out of the moping place she’d stepped into. “Yes?”

“Your husband left his bag.” The freckle-faced man pointed to the small travel bag on the counter.

“I’ll take it.” The bag was surprisingly light when she picked it up. The leather handle felt warm in her hand as she hobbled toward the restaurant.

She knew she shouldn’t look inside it but the urge to do so grew with each step she took toward a table. With a quick glance to be sure Mavis wasn’t around, she sat down gratefully and put the bag on the chair beside her.

It was as if Whitman were there in spirit daring her to open the bag.

“What can I get for you, ma’am?”

The waitress startled her out of the new obsession with Whit’s bag.

“Coffee, maybe some chicken and biscuits if you’ve got any.” Sarah wasn’t hungry but knew she needed to eat. It had been more than a day since she’d had a decent meal.

“We surely do have some fried chicken. The biscuits are from this morning but they are still tasty.” The silver-haired woman glanced at the bag. “Your husband joining you?”

Sarah had a moment where she envisioned what it might be like if Whitman was her husband. She smashed it like a bug on a glass.

“No, he’s getting some air this evening.” And good riddance for the night too.

“Likely down at the Purple Posy. Most of the men coming in on the train end up down there.” The woman’s face reflected a sadness Sarah knew too well.

“He can do as he pleases. It’s not my business.” Sarah, of course, didn’t want to contemplate what Whitman might do at a place called the Purple Posy.

The waitress humphed. “Your choice. I’ll be right back with the vittles.”

After the woman walked away, Sarah turned her attention back to the bag. It stared at her daring her to be the naughty girl she could be.

Sarah reached for the toggle holding the bag closed.

Whitman entered the saloon looking for a release. He needed to break the shroud of frustration and confusion around him. Sarah had turned him on his head, much to his consternation.

The bushy-haired bartender took one look at him and grimaced. “Woman trouble?”

“Is there any other kind that drives men to drink?” Whit sat down and knocked on the scarred wooden bar. “Set me up with some whiskey, and not the cheap rotgut. I want the good stuff.”