A Touch of Frost

by Jo Goodman

  Remington looked to Madeleine’s mother for verification. When she nodded, he asked, “Blue men?”

  “She’s referring to the blue scarves two of them wore to hide their features. I’m Mrs. Bancroft, by the way. My husband is Lieutenant Avery Bancroft. We’re on our way to Jackson to be with him.”

  Madeleine knuckled her eyes. “And now Mama doesn’t have her ring. We are all very sad about that.”

  Remington did not know what else to do except nod. Not for the first time he had cause to regret being in receipt of his father’s telegram. If only he had left Chicago when he planned, the message would have arrived too late for him to take any sort of action. He would have shown up in Frost Falls ignorant of his father’s request, and while Thaddeus would have been disappointed, he was not one to assign blame where none was warranted.

  Thaddeus Frost was accounted by all to be a fair man, but Remington could not say how his father would view this. Remington had promised to see that the last leg of Phoebe Apple’s journey—in her case from the connector in Saint Louis through Denver and on to Frost Falls—was without incident. Here, then, by any measure, was failure on a grand scale.

  Cursing softly so only his lips moved around the blasphemous words, Remington lifted his hat, plowed four fingers through his dark hair, and then resettled the Stetson on his head precisely as it had been. It was only then that he took notice that all three females were watching him with unnatural interest.

  “What?” he asked, looking briefly at each one in turn. “What is it?”

  “Nothing,” said Mrs. Jacob C. Tyler, though her audible sigh indicated otherwise.

  Lieutenant Avery Bancroft’s wife blinked once and flushed pink, but she offered no explanation.

  It was Madeleine who showed no inhibition in giving voice to what was on her mind. “You’re very pretty.”

  “Oh.” A small vertical crease appeared between Remington’s arched black eyebrows as they drew together. “Well, thank you, I suppose.”

  Madeleine nodded gravely. “My father’s handsomer.”

  “I’m sure you’re right.”

  Mrs. Bancroft placed a hand at her daughter’s back and gently rubbed it. “That’s enough, Maddie.” She raised her eyes to Remington. “Are you steady on your feet now?”

  He was afraid to nod, afraid the motion would make his head swim, so he answered instead. “I am.”

  “Then shouldn’t you go forward and help the men do what is necessary to move this train?”

  Before he could answer, Mrs. Tyler interjected, “I believe Mr. Frost has more immediate concerns. Isn’t that correct? You were inquiring about Mrs. Apple. I would like to understand your intentions.”

  One of his eyebrows kicked up. “My intentions? My intentions are simply to find her, effect a rescue, and deliver her unharmed to the Twin Star spread outside of Frost Falls.”

  “Frost Falls,” said Mrs. Tyler. “That’s you?”

  “My great-grandfather. He settled there, ranched, the town came later. To your point about my intentions, my father remarried a while back. Phoebe Apple is his wife’s younger sister. I think you’re wrong about her being Mrs. Apple.”

  “I did not mishear her. And then there’s the child.”

  “Child?” Remington looked from Mrs. Tyler to Madeleine. The little girl’s eyes widened and her golden ringlets bounced as she shook her head. “Whose child?”

  “Her husband’s.” Mrs. Tyler ignored Remington Frost’s impatient sigh and put her hands together, extending them about four inches from the cinched waist of her skirt. “Seven months gone would be my guess, although she told me birth was imminent.”

  Remington was reckoned to have a better than fair poker face at the card table. Some remarked that it was excellent. At the moment, though, what it was, was astonished, and he could not make it otherwise. He braced himself by placing his hands on the seat backrests on either side of him. “She’s pregnant?”

  “I suppose that knock to your head accounts for you being slow on the draw. That’s what I am telling you. It certainly appears she is carrying a child.”

  As quick as that, Remington’s astonishment was replaced by suspicion. He did not think he had mistaken the almost infinitesimal pause that Mrs. Tyler took before she answered him. His dark eyes narrowed as he studied the older woman. He thought she was trying to tell him something without saying it straight. He could not be sure unless he asked. So he did. “It appears? You have reason to doubt it?”

  Another pause. “Perhaps. I don’t like saying so, especially as she showed such courage.”

  “Mrs. Tyler. I need to know. I wasn’t there when she boarded in Chicago, and I barely caught sight of her when she changed trains in Saint Louis.” He opened his duster, reached inside his jacket, and produced a photograph. “This is all I had to identify her.”

  Mrs. Tyler regarded the photograph with a critical eye while Madeleine craned her head and stood on tiptoe to see it. “It’s a fair likeness. Why didn’t you introduce yourself to her? You said she’s family.”

  “I’d be curious, too, if I were you, but I hope you will believe me when I tell you I had my reasons and they would take too long to explain. I need to find her, and I can’t imagine that it’s not important for me to know whether or not she’s carrying a child.”

  There was yet another hesitation, this time a long one while Mrs. Tyler looked Remington up and down.

  “Well?” he asked.

  “The truth is, I just don’t know. I had no reason to doubt her until she fell on me when the train jerked and jumped. My forearm was wedged between us. Right here.” She showed him by placing her forearm against her abdomen. “Mrs. Apple felt . . . well . . .”

  “Yes?”

  “She felt lumpy.”

  Mrs. Bancroft’s lips parted on an indrawn breath. Madeleine giggled.

  “Lumpy,” Remington repeated without inflection.

  “Yes. It struck me as strange. In other circumstances I might have inquired, but the circumstances being what they were, I did not.”

  “All right.” Remington accepted this bit of intelligence without making judgment. He would have to learn the truth for himself, but at least he knew there was a truth to uncover. The pregnancy could explain why his father thought it necessary to shadow Phoebe. If it had been possible, Thaddeus would have asked him to chaperone her from the moment she boarded in New York, but business had only taken him east as far as the Chicago stockyards. After receiving the telegram, and armed with the photograph, he bought a ticket for the first train available to him and the two thoroughbreds he had purchased. Shipping the horses complicated his departure, and that was how he came to miss connecting with Phoebe Apple in Chicago. It was a piece of luck that he crossed her path in Saint Louis. And then again, maybe it wasn’t.

  He considered another possibility and addressed Mrs. Tyler. “Did she strike you as”—here he tapped his temple with a fingertip—“as slow?”

  “Slow? No, not in the least. A bit distracted, I thought. She spent a great deal of time staring out the window, but you know that since you were watching her. Perhaps she was fascinated by the landscape, but I supposed she was simply thinking, daydreaming. I don’t know that for a fact; it was just my impression. But slow? No. There might be cause for some to say that she showed a lack of good judgment, but I would not be one of them. And neither should you be. It was the act of assisting you that put her squarely in the sights of that awful man.” She fell quiet, thinking. “Well, that and the fact that she snorted.”

  “How’s that again?”

  “She snorted.” Mrs. Tyler attempted to demonstrate but could only manage a disdainful sniff. “Something like that. It was an elegant expression of derision.”

  “I see,” he said dryly. “And she was tending to me? Do I have that right?”

  “Yes. The farmer was look
ing after his own injury, and the two sidewinders were bent on escaping. Mrs. Bancroft was comforting her daughter, and I freely admit I did not yet have my wits about me.”

  “You said she shot him.”

  “Yes. Winged him, actually.” She touched her upper left arm with her right hand. “Here. Caused him to take a step back, but I think it was more in surprise than from the injury. His companions reappeared from the rear car, saw what happened, and pointed their guns at her. He—the big fella—stopped them and ordered them to bring her along.”

  “Did she resist? Snort?”

  “That is not amusing, young man. She had the good sense to go with them and saved the rest of us. I imagine he wanted her to attend to his wound.”

  “How long ago?”

  “There was still light then.” She looked to Mrs. Bancroft for help. “An hour, would you say?”

  “That seems right. Perhaps a little more.”

  Remington exhaled long and deeply. He raised an eyebrow and pointed to the bank of windows on his right.

  Mrs. Tyler shook her head. “Other way. I watched until they disappeared over a ridge. I can’t possibly know where they went after that.”

  “And Phoebe Apple? You’re sure you saw her riding out with them?”

  “Yes.” Although her answer was firmly given, it was followed by the gradual, thoughtful appearance of a frown.

  “What is it?” asked Remington.

  “Well, I can’t say that it’s anything, it’s just that . . .” Mrs. Tyler worried her lower lip. “I didn’t think of it before; it didn’t occur to me, that is, but she rode alone, and none of them was walking. It’s peculiar now that I think on it. Almost as if they had a spare animal just for the purpose of taking a hostage. Peculiar, like I said.”

  “Peculiar,” Remington repeated under his breath. “And no one tried to stop it?”

  She shrugged. “Didn’t seem that way, though I wonder what you think anyone could have done. Even if any of the passengers were allowed to keep a gun, I don’t imagine they wanted to fire for fear of hurting her.”

  Remington could feel the weight of the Colt at his side. They hadn’t relieved him of his weapon, but then he had not exactly been a threat to them. Annoyed with himself as much as this turn of events, he flattened his mouth as he considered his options.

  There were the two thoroughbreds he had purchased in one of the rear cattle cars. If they had not been injured when the train was forced to a stop, it was possible he could ride out, provided he could locate tack and one of the animals would accept him as a rider. Seemed like a lot of ifs.

  “Mister.”

  Remington’s attention was caught by the insistent tug on his long coat. He looked down at Madeleine, who was clutching his duster. “Yes, Madeleine?”

  Her fingers unfolded and she smiled at him guilelessly. “I can ride a horse.”

  Mrs. Bancroft touched her daughter’s shoulder. “Not now, Madeleine.”

  “But I can. A pony anyway. And I have a good seat. Father says so.”

  “Madeleine, please.” Mrs. Bancroft smiled apologetically. “I don’t know why she thinks that is important now.”

  Remington didn’t either, and he surprised himself by hunkering in front of the little girl. “Is it important?”

  Madeleine returned his direct gaze and nodded. “The big man wouldn’t give her the reins. He had to lead her. She doesn’t have a good seat; she was wobbly.”

  “Good to know.” He ruffled her hair as he rose and looked to the adults for confirmation. When they both nodded, he said, “Unless they get impatient with her and force her to ride with one of them, she’ll slow them down.”

  Mrs. Tyler regarded him hopefully. “Then you’re going after her?”

  “I am.”

  Mrs. Bancroft frowned deeply, not at all optimistic. “Alone? On foot? Shouldn’t you wait for help? Form a posse?”

  Remington Frost thought she posed good questions, but since he hadn’t worked out the answer to any of them, he simply touched a forefinger to the brim of his hat, offered a grim, parting smile, and turned to go. He could almost feel them staring after him as he went in search of the engineer.

  Chapter Three

  “Excuse me,” said Phoebe. When no one responded even so far as to look in her direction, she repeated herself in a louder, more strident tone. This time Mr. Shoulders, who was in control of her horse’s reins, slowed just enough to bring her mount abreast of his. She noticed the two reprobates riding side by side in the lead did not pause or deign to glance back. That was just as well. What she had to say was not meant for the entertainment of the entire party.

  “What is it?” Shoulders asked impatiently. The scarf he still wore over the lower half of his face muffled his voice, but it did not make the words he barked out any less severe.

  Intent on whispering now, Phoebe nearly unseated herself as she leaned toward him and rolled her eyes in a significant way to indicate the sparse scattering of greenery on her left. “I need a moment.”

  Shoulders quickly closed the gap between them and extended his injured arm to keep Phoebe in her saddle. He did not have to push her back into position. His touch accomplished that.

  “For God’s sake, woman,” he growled. “Watch what you’re doing.”

  Phoebe settled more firmly in the saddle, but the effect was the opposite of what she wished. The warm leather under her nether regions reminded her how urgent her need was. “Really,” she said. “I need a moment.”

  “We’re not stopping. You’ve slowed us down enough already.”

  She felt compelled to remind him, “I told you at the start that I’d never ridden before.”

  “Uh-huh. And you’re not riding now. You’re sitting. More or less. And she’s doing all the work.”

  “She? What’s her name? Perhaps I would do better if she and I had a conversation, became better acquainted.”

  “Lady, your bag is missing a few marbles.”

  That gave Phoebe pause. “My bag is . . . oh, you are referring to my mental acuity, implying that I am, if not precisely brainless, at the very least a slow top. Do I have that right?”

  Shoulders stared straight ahead. He shook his head slightly and swore under his breath. “Give it a rest,” he told her.

  She sighed. “That is the very thing I should like to do, but if you will not stop, then I must find distractions. There is urgency, you see.”

  Shoulders halted his mount and kept Phoebe’s mare in check. He called out to the men in the lead. “We’re stopping. Call of nature. You go on and we’ll catch up.” He paused and then added with a thread of sarcasm, “Eventually.”

  The pair nodded as one and maintained their forward progress. Shoulders waited until they were fifty yards away before he dismounted. He growled at Phoebe when she did not wait for his help. He managed to catch her before she completely unseated herself.

  “Jeez, woman. Have a care.” His fingers pressed hard into either side of her waist. “Where’s the percentage in you breaking your neck?”

  “My name is Mrs. Harriman Apple,” she said, mustering her dignity. “Not lady, not woman. And unless you mean to carry me to those bushes, I would be grateful if you would remove your hands from my person.”

  He removed his hands, even held them up as he stepped away in a show of surrender. “Butter damn well doesn’t melt in that mouth of yours, does it?”

  Phoebe merely flattened her lips in response.

  Mr. Shoulders jerked his chin in the direction of a thicket. “Go on. Attend to your business.”

  It was harder to maintain any sense of poise when she had to pick her way over rocky ground to reach the sparse covering of thorny bushes. She circled the thicket, found it unsatisfactory because she could see through the spiny, leafless branches, and called out that she was going to higher ground for relat
ive privacy behind a small outcropping of rock.

  Mr. Shoulders did not object except to warn her not to try to make a break for it.

  Phoebe raised her skirt a few inches to make the climb easier. “And he thinks my bag is missing a few marbles,” she muttered to herself. “Where does he think I can go?”

  “You say something?” he called to her.

  “No!” She thought she might have heard him chuckle, but the thought that he was laughing at her was so unpleasant that she dismissed it from her mind. When she finally reached the rocky perch, she ducked behind it and squatted low, making herself invisible to Shoulders. She wondered how long she could stay where she was before he became suspicious, and then she wondered if he would check after her to see if she had done anything except waste his time. She adjusted her skirt, petticoats, and knickers, closed her eyes, and put the image of a narrow stream of rapidly running water in her mind before she made her own.

  Well, at least now there would be evidence. When she had finished relieving herself, she straightened her clothing and stood, and was not entirely surprised to see Mr. Shoulders had covered half the distance to reach her. He stopped as soon as she stepped away from the outcropping. She thought that he might offer her assistance during her descent, but he simply turned and headed back to the horses. She was grateful for his lack of attention and wished she were capable of mounting the mare she’d been given without assistance from him.

  No words were exchanged as he helped her up and onto the saddle. Her mare remained tethered to his until he was mounted and then he took up her reins as well as his own. Phoebe did not know how to hold herself easy in the saddle. Her spine was not merely upright; it was stiff. It was not long before she once again felt every movement of the mare as a jolt, not quite painful, but more than uncomfortable. To distract herself, she focused on her surroundings, looking for landmarks that might help her later when she made her escape. And she would escape, she thought. From the moment Shoulders had insisted she accompany him and his men, Phoebe had been plotting how she would get away from them. They had not yet traveled so far that she could not make it back to the train tracks on foot, if not to the train.