by Shelley Gray
"I'm sorry to say, he gave his life for this train, which is a rather sorry little story." He sighed dramatically as he tapped the end of his cigar on the end of a table. "The truth is that he should have never doubted me. I don't prevaricate. Ever. It was a shame that poor man had such a difficult time understanding that, don't you think?"
He'd killed the engineer.
Jamie's head felt frozen. She was too afraid to nod, too scared to speak.
He glanced at her, seemed to find comfort in her terror, and then puffed on his cigar again. "I don't believe his brakeman will doubt me now."
The air filled with tension as he gazed at her again. "Now, though, at least you have a coat." He smiled slowly. Obviously goading her to make a response.
But Jamie didn't know what kind of response to make. Still frozen, her mind went back to the scene of Kent shooting the innocent man, ripping off his coat, and tossing him out of the train.
All she was sure about was that she needed to hide her revulsion, both of the coat she was wearing and for the men in front of her.
The atmosphere grew thicker. Tense. Before long, Mr. Walton gave up all pretensions of looking amiable. Instead, his green eyes flashed annoyance and his jaw tightened. Two seconds later, he popped two knuckles. The sharp cracks sounded like rifle pops in the still silence, making her shiver all over again. "Miss Ellis? Are you going to grant me a response?"
Her mouth went dry.
"Talk," Scout murmured from behind her back, his mouth so close she could feel the heat of his breath against her skin. "Talk. Now."
But she didn't know what to say. She was frozen. Panicked. Her mind a void.
"Do it," he muttered, his voice still low but with a forceful edge.
"Yes, sir," she finally said, feeling like a puppet. The truth was, she wasn't even sure what she was referring to anymore. Holding her breath, she half waited for him to yell at her. Or to command her to remove the coat.
Mr. Walton flashed his teeth. "How nice to discover you are inclined to converse. At last."
"Yes, sir. I'm sorry," she said hurriedly. "My father never liked to me to speak to men. I'm afraid I don't have much practice."
Scout grunted.
Momentarily appeased, Mr. Walton smiled. "I find that charming." After puffing his cigar again, he continued. "Now that our conveyance is stopped, it seems that a group of U.S. Marshals have come to investigate."
"Yes, sir?"
"Normally, these men wouldn't be of concern to you, I know. However, I'm afraid someone who we very kindly let go has gone and told those men that there is a woman in here. You."
"Yes, sir?"
"This is a problem." His voice hardened as a look of pure venom entered his voice. He paused.
Jamie's mouth went dry as a feeling of foreboding flickered through her.
Mr. Walton didn't disappoint. "Miss Ellis, because the men know you are on board, they are naturally concerned for your welfare."
Once again, he waited for a response. Once again, she had no idea what to say. "Are they?" Her heart quickening, she wondered if she was about to be freed.
"Indeed. I'm afraid they think the worst." He lifted his hand and examined his nails. "But we are not animals. Not a one of us has mistreated you, have we?" He paused. Stared hard at her.
Feeling weak, she shook her head. "No, sir."
"Very good. I'm glad you see my side of things. In any case, I'm afraid it is now necessary that you be seen."
Scout's breathing hitched.
"Seen?" A whole wealth of images festered in her mind, but unfortunately, none of it made sense. "I'm . . . I'm sorry I don't understand."
Beside her, she could feel Scout's impatience with her grow. With some surprise, his words of warning filtered to her brain again. She wasn't supposed to offer opinions.
Afraid to look his way but unable to stop herself, she glanced toward him.
Scout's mouth tightened and his entire body seemed to radiate disdain.
But fortunately, Mr. Walton didn't seem too dismayed about her speaking. With a motion of his right hand, he said, "Miss Ellis, McMillan is going to take you to the back of the train. He's going to open the back latch. You are going to go stand on the miniscule balcony for a full three minutes." His voice lowered.
"Listen carefully. You will not do anything except stand still. You will not attempt to signal anyone. You will not fight Mr. McMillan. You will not even think about leaving our hospitality. If you do, Scout has orders to shoot you. And trust me, he will. Do you understand?"
"Yes, sir."
"You'd better." Looking toward Scout, Mr. Walton smiled. "See, here's the thing about Scout Proffitt. It doesn't matter to a man like him if you are a woman or how you were bred." Almost kindly, he added, "Life and death mean the same to him. Humanity means nothing to him. He's a killer. A very good one. But that's all he is."
Beside her, Scout's body might as well have been forged from steel, he was standing so still and straight. Pure venom radiated from him directly to the boss.
With a bit of a shock, Jamie realized that she felt sorry for Scout. Ached to set the record straight. To tell Mr. Walton that there was more to the man beside her than the ability to shoot lethally.
But that would be a mistake. Any compassion that she'd earlier imagined had lurked inside Scout now seemed to be long gone. His eyes were blank and his lips were set in a hard line, as if anger burned right below the surface.
Mr. Walton seemed oblivious to it. "Miss Ellis, do you understand?"
She was frozen in shock. Though she'd been warned not to, she glanced in Will's direction. His expression seemed frozen in stone. Not even an eyelash flickered.
Mr. Walton's eyes narrowed. "Was there something I said that you didn't understand, that you are unable to comprehend?"
"Speak," Scout ordered under his breath.
Like a puppet, she followed directions. "Yes, Mr. Walton. I mean, no, Mr. Walton. I mean . . . I understand."
"Very good. If you continue to do what I say, I might be very pleased with your company, my dear," he said, his voice low and dark. "I might be very pleased indeed. And that means you might just survive our acquaintance. And we would all like that, yes? I've never been fond of harming women and children."
Afraid Scout was going to nudge her again, Jamie nodded. And spoke directly from her heart. "Yes, sir. I would like to survive our acquaintance very much."
A moment passed. Two. Beside her, Scout seemed so tense that Jamie felt sure a stiff wind would split him in two.
Then Mr. Walton laughed. "You have spunk. Good for you." His lips curved into a smile as he looked at her, then immediately hardened as he turned to Will. "Take her on out, McMillan. Take her out and show those Marshals what we've got." Flickering over her form, he added, "Don't forget to remove that new coat of hers. I want every man to have no doubt about what he's seeing."
Without a word, Will nodded, walked to her side, and wrapped one hand around her arm. When he motioned her forward, she obediently stepped forward, all the while wondering if she was walking out to a certain death.
7
Taking care not to bruise her delicate skin, Will McMillan wrapped his hand firmly around Jamie's arm as he escorted her out of the crowded train car and on to the next one. Behind them, Scout Proffitt followed slowly and steadily. Dressed in his usual black, he seemed like an apparition from the worst sort of nightmare.
Will gritted his teeth. He didn't think Scout had hurt the woman, but he must have done something.
Things between them seemed different now. Each seemed skittish around the other. Fear was radiating from Jamie's body like the sun, and Scout was glowering more than usual. And looking at her with more compassion.
As Will continued to guide her toward the end of the train, he cursed the situation. How in the world had things gotten so out of hand? He'd been with the Walton Gang for almost two years now. In that time, he thought he'd seen just about everything. Bloodshed. Robberies.
Weaklings tossed away and forgotten.
But until this day they'd never been ones to take advantage of females—especially females who were innocent. He'd signed on for his own reasons, not to scare defenseless women half to death. Worse, by the looks of things, little Miss Jamilyn Ellis was on the verge of a nervous breakdown. Her arm trembled under his touch and her skin was so white that Will was certain a light wind could blow her down.
She certainly did have a fair amount of gumption though; he'd give her that. Though she was pale and her lips were pursed tight, she walked by his side without making a peep. By his estimation, few women were able carry on like that. Most he'd known had been far more fond of dramatics and tears.
Finally, they stopped at the door to the platform at the back of the caboose. "It's almost time. Are you ready, Jamie?"
"I am." Her caramel-colored eyes, so warm and pretty, met his. "I'm just supposed to stand outside, right?"
"Right. All you have to do is stand there, and don't say a word."
When she nodded to show her understanding, Will fought the urge to give her a reassuring smile.
He couldn't trust her. He could only imagine that she was guileless. Because if she decided to act up or escape, he wasn't going to be able to be responsible for what would happen next. If Scout didn't shoot her dead, he'd be forced to do anything he had to in order to get her back.
Even if it meant hurting her or worse. It was either that or ruin his reputation. And no matter what, he couldn't afford to let anyone think that he was less than a full-fledged member of the Walton Gang.
As Jamie steeled herself, Will held onto her arm with one hand, then reached out and grabbed the lever to the door with the other. The door's handle was cold to the touch, reminding Will just how bitterly cold and windy it was outside. "All right now," he murmured. "We better get you out there."
She took one step forward.
"Hold on. She needs to take off the coat," Scout ordered from behind them.
Will turned to him in surprise. "It's freezing out there. She'll catch her death."
"No. She'll catch her death if she gets shot."
Under his hand, Jamie's trembling intensified.
Will narrowed his eyes. "She's frightened enough—she doesn't need you making things worse."
"McMillan, you know Boss wants her standing in only her dress. Are you refusing to follow orders?"
"Of course I'm not. It's just that I've got a brain, you know. It's as cold as—"
"She's wearing a dead man's coat," Scout interrupted. "From a distance, some of the Marshals might even get to thinking she's a man. Might get trigger-happy. It needs to come off."
Will thought there was no way any man looking at Jamie's form was going to mistake it for anything masculine. She was a tiny thing. Petite, yet curvy too. Remembering how she'd felt when he'd carried her, Will knew for a fact there was little angular about her body.
However, he wasn't going to push. James Walton had issued his orders, and no one had ever made the mistake of thinking that the gang was a democracy.
Well, they didn't make that mistake twice.
Just as important, Scout seemed more dangerous than ever at the moment. His gray eyes looked even closer to black and his manner was even more surly than usual.
"Jamie, that coat needs to come off for a time," he said.
Still in the open doorway, Jamie didn't meet his gaze as her shaking hands unfastened four buttons. She then slipped the heavy wool from her shoulders, revealing her black gown once again. Though it should have made her look less beautiful, the opposite was true.
And in that minute, Will knew Scout's orders had had merit. The gown made her small waist look tiny and the bustle and petticoats made the gentle flare of her hips more pronounced. She was everything feminine that men dreamed about.
She was everything he'd ever fantasized about.
"All right. Let's get this over with."
Immediately, a fierce cold breeze slapped them in the face, making his eyes water. "Step out and stand still until I tell you otherwise."
She raised her eyes to his. "You'll be here too, right?"
Her words softened his heart and nearly made him weep, there was such trust there. "I'll be right here. I'm not going anywhere."
She stepped forward, standing with both feet on the platform.
Will was right behind her, his hands loose and easy, ready to reach out and grab her the moment she was in danger of losing her balance.
When Jamie rested her hands in front of her, Scout issued another order from the portal. "Nope, that won't do. Miss Ellis, you keep your hands behind your back. If you even attempt to make a hand signal, you'll regret it."
To Will's surprise, Jamie turned to Scout and glared. "I won't make a hand signal, Mr. Proffitt. Believe me, I have no wish to die today."
Then, with the cold wind blowing hard enough that it made a man think he was on a ship in the ocean, Jamie continued to stand unassisted.
True to her word, she kept her hands behind her back, even though not being able to hold on to the railing was truly a difficult thing for her. Big gusts of frozen sleet slammed them from the north. Her body rocked with the motion. She swayed, obviously attempting to keep her balance.
Behind Will, Scout cursed.
After two more seconds, Will couldn't take it anymore. He stepped out and walked to her side. As the Marshals looked on and Jamie trembled, he stepped closer. Angling his body right next to her, and a little behind, he used his body for support.
Or, perhaps, he was trying to offer her comfort, such that it was.
As she steadied a little and the wind bit into their skin, freezing the points it could touch, Will rested one palm flat in between her shoulder blades.
Which, if he thought about it, had to be just about the saddest, most pathetic attempt at gallantry he'd ever used in his life.
It was all Jamie could do not to scream or cry. Or leap. Beside the train, at a good twenty paces away, six men on horseback stared at her from their spot on the tracks, effectively blocking the train's way. Their Winchesters were cocked, and their expressions were filled with so much contempt that Jamie felt they were already judging her and were finding her wanting.
When she dared to meet their eyes, one of them cursed. She was barely aware of Will's presence, but still was grateful for it. It was bitterly cold, and with the wind and flecks of ice swirling and whipping around them, Jamie knew she'd never felt more vulnerable in her life.
The cold winter elements made her taffeta dress feel as thin and insignificant as tissue paper. Bits of snow and ice flicked her face, stinging her cheeks and making her eyes water. Immediately after, her ears started to burn.
And still, she was forced to continue to stand.
"Who are you?" one of them called out.
Will had already made it very clear that she should definitely not speak. Teeth chattering, Jamie looked to him for guidance.
With some surprise, she realized she now practically had completely given up trying to think for herself. It was too risky—the goals and rules seemed to be mercurial. People who were too confident were pushed or shot or derided.
She feared for her life too much.
Or perhaps she was just too cold.
"Girl? Can you talk?" The closest Marshal called out, his red handlebar mustache matching the sneer in his voice.
She hadn't expected this. For some reason, she'd imagined the lawmen would be more mannerly. Kinder, or at least feeling sorry for her considering her situation. Was no man full of kindness anymore?
"Girl?" the man yelled again.
She turned to Will again. "What do you want me to say?"
After gazing at the Marshals again, the man behind her nodded almost imperceptibly. "Talk."
"Girl?" the Marshal called out. "Girl, start talking to me or else I'll be forced to remind you which side the law is on."
As loudly as she was able, she stated her name. "I am Jamilyn Ellis."
The man in a tan hat and a silver star pinned lopsidedly on his duster looked at the others before turning to her again. "Are you part of the Walton Gang?"
Shocked that he would even think such a thing, she shook her head violently. "I am not."
One of the men muttered something to the others. They laughed. Though she couldn't hear their conversation, their tone sounded vaguely slimy. Making her wonder what was ever going to happen to her. Would she ever feel safe again?
Behind her, Will's body tensed.
For one breathless moment, she ached to say something else, if only for the opportunity to defend herself. All she'd ever done in her life was do what her parents had asked of her, and then nursed them until their deaths. She'd been dutiful and boring, but always respectable. The way the men were looking at her said in their eyes she was anything but that. "I . . . I'm not part of the gang," she called out. "I'm a hostage. I was traveling by myself and taken hostage." She gathered a breath, hoping to come up with a way to let the Marshals know how innocent she was, when finally the men stilled and gazed at her again.
"Miss Ellis?" One of the Marshals called out. "Are you being held against your will?"
"Yes! Yes, of course!" She almost laughed. Here she was, standing in the shadow of two gunmen, freezing in the winter air, and shaking for all she was worth, and the riders below actually wanted to know if she was a hostage or not?
"She's our hostage," Will answered. "But she's unharmed."
Another rider got closer. This man wore a gray Stetson and what looked to be a buffalo-hide coat. But there was a hint of derision on his face. As if he'd lived too long and had done too much.
His gaze on her felt like an oily mark, staining her with shame.
"You ain't hurt her yet, McMillan? She's been willing?"
Jamie gasped as the man's reference sank in.
"Stay quiet," Scout ordered from the doorway.
"You wanted to see her. Now you have," Will called out.
