Song of My Heart

by Barbara Baldwin

  The train gave its warning whistle and he lengthened his stride. With each footfall, his headache worsened. His boot heels beat an angry rhythm across the train platform and he practically threw Abby onto the platform of the Pullman.

  When she turned to protest, his fierce look quelled whatever she might have said. But defiant to the end, she tilted her chin and marched into the car ahead of him.

  Connors was setting the table for luncheon and turned when they walked in. “Mr. Grant, I heard there was a commotion in town. Did you happen—” The young porter’s mouth dropped open when he took in Max’s tattered, dust-covered appearance.

  “Out.” The single word stopped any further comments. Connors scurried to the door, mumbling something about coming back later.

  Max took a napkin from the table and dipped it into the bucket where the wine sat chilling for luncheon. Squeezing out the excess, he applied the cold compress to his forehead. Only then did he turn to see where his assailant cowered.

  He might have known; she wasn’t cowering.

  “That man was brutalizing his own son,” she said defiantly. No apology for practically knocking him senseless. Yet he saw in her a kindred spirit—a defender of the unfortunate. He shook his head in consternation.

  She hurried over to where he stood. “Let me see. Does it hurt terribly?” She reached toward his head, knocking him in the shoulder with the purse she carried on her wrist.

  Max tossed the napkin on the table, grabbed her hand and removed the purse. “Damn, woman, what do you have in there?”

  “You have no right—”

  He scooted aside the plates and turned her reticule upside-down to empty the contents on the table.

  “You’ve hit me with it twice. I have every—” He looked at the collection of items heaped on the table. In his estimation, not one of them belonged in a lady’s purse. Well, perhaps the pillbox, he amended. He flipped through a journal, abstractly noting her neat handwriting. He tossed the book aside, more interested in the remainder of items.

  Abby reached across him, trying to rescue her possessions. “Please, these are private.”

  He captured her hand in his and brought it to his side. “What is all this?” He used his other hand to sift through the pile—a pillbox, a compass, several pencils, a coin purse, a small rock and even a small silver flask. He released her hand to open the stopper.

  “Brandy?” He raised an eyebrow in surprise.

  “For medicinal purposes. I did not come west totally unprepared, regardless of what you may think.”

  “Really?”

  “A woman must always be prepared.”

  “I suppose that is more of the rebels’ advice.” Max was beginning to think the adage seen but not heard should apply to women as well as children, especially the suffragist fanatics who’d filled Abby’s head with nonsense. He tossed the small flask back on top of her handkerchief and it clinked. He lifted the dainty, lace-edged square of linen, then the derringer that lay beneath it.

  “Hell and damnation, you carry a gun?”

  Abby shrugged. “I tend to forget I have it. It’s not as if I’m exactly used to violence. At least, I wasn’t until you came into my life.” She crossed her arms defiantly in front of her.

  “Don’t blame me for your proposing cowboy or your interference in a family squabble.”

  His anger deflated her, the look of rebellion replaced by concern. “I am sorry. I intended to cosh that awful man in the head, not you. My aim wasn’t very good.”

  “It’s probably a good thing you didn’t use that gun. If your aim is as bad as your swing, I’d be dead.”

  He slapped the wet napkin against his forehead again, reached for her hand and pulled her down the corridor to the observation room. He collapsed on the sofa, dragging her with him. She wiggled loose of his grip and demurely arranged herself as far from him as possible.

  Distance is good, Max thought. He was still alternating between wanting to paddle her backside for interfering and wanting to kiss her because she’d tried to defend him. No one had done that for a very long time.

  It was then he noticed the small bruise on her chin. Anger welled inside him that anyone would hurt this woman when all she’d wanted to do was help a child. He reached out, tilting her face toward him and gently rubbing his thumb across the mark. Abby’s eyes darkened, and Max ached to kiss her. He dropped his hand back to his knee.

  “I’m laying down some rules, and you’re following them,” he said, hoping to dispel the lustful sensations in the pit of his stomach. He knew where they would lead if he let them.

  “All right.” Her ready acquiescence and the timbre of her voice made him look at her. She wore a forlorn expression, and her bottom lip trembled.

  “I’m only trying to protect you.”

  “I know.” She nodded, her tone one of total capitulation.

  Max became suspicious. “What are you thinking?”

  Instead of answering, Abby reached over and removed his hand and the damp cloth from his forehead. She gently kissed the knot she’d inadvertently caused.

  “I’m very sorry,” she whispered.

  “Quit that.”

  “Why does it bother you to have someone look after you and worry about you?”

  “It’s my job to worry, not yours. Besides, I don’t need anyone looking after me.” He stood, his voice gruff with emotions he didn’t want to identify.

  “Uh-huh.” Abby smiled, nodding in apparent agreement.

  Max knew that smile. He swore every female in the world was born knowing exactly what it did to the male species. It said they had a secret, that they knew something men didn’t and that if a man wasn’t careful, he would get lost in the depths of that smile.

  The problem, as Max saw it at that moment, was that he wanted nothing more than to succumb.

  * * *

  The constant movement of the train carrying them westward was tiresome, but Abby didn’t mind being confined with Max. Her creativity flowed with incredible ease. She had no piano, but she heard the melodies of her composition in her head.

  She used Max for inspiration. She secretly watched as he paced like a wild, caged animal longing for escape. At other times, he pored over documents, taking notes and re-reading passages, apparently trying to find some clue he’d overlooked.

  She didn’t share her musical creation with him, for it was still too new and fragile. Besides, she wasn’t sure of the nature of the relationship they were developing, so she remained somewhat shy around him.

  They managed to keep a routine of sorts. She slept in the stateroom and he slept in the upper berth attached to the wall in the dining room. He kept his clothes in the wardrobe in Abby’s room, but had volunteered half of it to her. It was far more than she needed for the dresses and skirts she owned.

  They shared most of their meals, served on fine bone china and crystal and brought through the train from the dining car. She discovered the Pullman had a small kitchen, and that allowed her to fix tea or Max’s coffee during the day.

  He treated her with deference, being polite to an extreme, but keeping his distance. The longer she was around him, the more she wanted to ask him about those kisses they’d shared and his reaction to her show of sympathy when she’d knocked him on the forehead. Just watching him daily did funny things to her insides, and she’d begun having the most extraordinary dreams about him.

  Max didn’t seem the least interested in her. In fact, just that morning, she’d come out to find him reading a newspaper and had touched his arm. He might have jumped clear off the train if not for the windows blocking his escape route.

  As it was, he took one look at her and quickly left, not returning for hours. Abby thought it was probably due to her appearance. She knew men didn’t tolerate sickrooms well and she’d come out in her nightgown, face pale, requesting a powder to relieve the pain in her stomach and her head.

  She finally got Connors to bring her the requested tonic, along with some
tea and dry toast. Abby spent most of the morning bemoaning her plight in a world of men. They didn’t understand her womanly moods or her need for a little comfort. Later, she wrote a long letter to Tess, putting her thoughts on paper and knowing her friend would understand.

  * * *

  They left the Ellis station with a telegram from Crede stating he would meet them in First View. Max appeared relieved to finally have some news, but agitated over the time it would still take to get to the border.

  “My heavens, you can’t ask for anything faster than this,” Abby said as they walked back to the Pullman after taking supper in the dining car. It was the only exercise she got most days. Since Bavaria, Max wouldn’t allow her off the train at the water and wood stops.

  “Granted, the speed these locomotives can travel is credible.” He held the door for her. “At least we haven’t had any trouble with Indians or renegades tearing up the tracks.”

  “Indians?” She stepped through the door onto the small, railed balcony between train cars. She’d never thought she would have the opportunity to see so much country and other cultures when she’d lived in Boston.

  At that moment, the train jerked and she fell forward. Her hips hit the rail and she grabbed for anything to keep from pitching completely over the short railing. Max grabbed her around the waist with one arm and pulled her against him. He spun them in a tight circle until her back was against the wood of the railroad car, and he was tight against her chest. He anchored them with one hand clutched around an iron guardrail, the other at her waist.

  “Thank you,” she gasped.

  He didn’t answer.

  She raised her gaze and her heart hitched in a rhythm quite different than the fear her near fall had caused. Wind disheveled his hair, feathering the dark strands across taut cheekbones. His mouth was a grim line, brows slashed downward in concern. But it was his eyes that caught her attention. Blue so dark it was almost black, they looked into her very soul.

  She’d tried to ignore her feelings, but Max’s energy and smiles broke down her resistance. His love for disguise had endeared him to her, while his kiss had completely captured her heart. Now, she longed to soothe the furrows from his brow. Secure in his embrace, she reached up and ran her fingers from the center of his forehead outward. “I’m all right now,” she said softly.

  The only answer she got was a growl. He tightened his arm around her waist and lowered his head toward hers. Abby’s breath caught in anticipation. She’d never gotten a true answer when she tried to discuss the kiss they’d shared. Yet that hadn’t kept her from thinking a lot about it.

  It was everything she remembered—hot, demanding, his firm lips sealing her breath within her. She slid her arms around his neck and held on tight. She wasn’t afraid of the train’s movement, but rather of what his kiss was doing to her.

  She felt his hard body against hers—solid muscle against her soft curves. They seemed to fit together perfectly. None of her female mentors had ever mentioned this exquisite ability of a man to arouse one’s senses to such a height. She was beginning to wonder if total independence was everything it was touted to be.

  Max ended the kiss, and she sighed. “Is this something we can only do at night?” she asked, remembering the last time they had kissed.

  “This is something we shouldn’t do at all,” he groaned even as he kissed her again.

  She smiled. It seemed the unflappable Maxwell Grant was just as contradictory as he made her feel.

  Chapter Five

  Regardless of the time of day or night, Max left the train at every town and water stop. He seemed to know everyone along the Kansas Pacific route. If he didn’t, their porter, Connors, gave him the necessary names.

  She hadn’t gotten off the train since Ellis, and that had been quite a brief stop. Usually the stops were just long enough to refuel, for the open prairie appeared devoid of any kind of civilization.

  According to Max, the railroad companies were becoming more aware of the need to sell the right of way. If homesteaders came and created towns, that in turn would bring more people westward on the trains. It was a circular process, and the railroad appeared to be in control of it for the time being.

  Abby stared out the window. The Pullman connected to the train between the passenger cars and the storage and stock cars. She couldn’t see any activity at the other end of the train in the dark, but she knew the procedure from working at the Harvey House. The trains stopped quite often to replenish split wood and water, for it took both to create the steam that made the trains run.

  Tonight, they were once again in the middle of nowhere, and Max had left his dinner when the train whistle blew and the brakes were applied. Based on past experience, he would be gone less than an hour. In the meantime, she paced.

  Since she’d left Topeka, a sense of adventure had settled over her. She woke each day waiting for something exciting to happen. Usually, it didn’t. Well, except for that little mishap in Bavaria, but that didn’t have anything to do with Max’s brother.

  Generally when they stopped, there was no word on Monty. However, most recently at Buffalo and Eagle Tail, Max found short messages from his fellow investigator.

  Abby had nagged him to read them, for he kept his own counsel. She had reminded him that they were partners, but he had told her that she was his employee, not a partner, and that meant she was only allowed to answer questions, not ask them.

  There wasn’t much for her to do, anyway, confined to the train. She frowned, contemplating. All she knew was that Max was looking for his brother. She had never asked him the reason, or why the scar-faced gambler was so important in the scheme of things.

  Max returned to the compartment half an hour later, and for a change seemed quite eager to talk to her.

  “Someone got on board.” He automatically moved to hold her chair for her, ready to resume his dinner.

  “It’s unusual for the train to pick up passengers at a fuel stop,” he said between mouthfuls of roast beef. “I’d just come from around the back of the water tower, which is where Crede would have left me a message, when I saw a stranger talking to Brinkenhoff.”

  “Who?”

  “The conductor. It’s always up to him whether anyone is allowed aboard outside the designated stops. It’s dangerous, to say the least, because of train robbers.”

  Abby dropped her fork, the ding against the china plate causing Max to raise his gaze from his dinner.

  “Train robbers?”

  He just shrugged.

  “You wanted me to help find your brother, but you never said anything about Indians and train robbers.”

  “I thought you were an independent woman,” he said.

  “I am.”

  “And I thought you came west prepared for anything; that your sailor friends had taught you all you needed to know to survive in the world.”

  “Well, I never said those exact words.”

  “So would you be wanting to change your mind, little lady?” He spoke in Donal O’Flagherty’s teasing brogue.

  He was right. If she ever hoped to be a truly independent woman, she couldn’t pick and choose only what she wanted. She had to take the good with the not so good. She tilted her head to study him. There was no reason why she shouldn’t forget the hazards and instead enjoy the humor of the man who sat across from her.

  “You know I won’t change my mind. Besides, you haven’t paid me yet, so I will be most difficult to get rid of.”

  “If I told you I had no money, would I still have your cooperation?” he asked.

  “Oh, I’m sure you have something else to trade that would gain my compliance.”

  He choked, and when she looked at him, her cheeks warmed from the intensity of his stare. His eyes glittered and the corners of his mouth quirked in a wolfish grin.

  He chuckled, breaking eye contact. “From past experience, I think I’d best leave that remark alone.”

  She leaned toward him, putting her elbows on the
table and propping her chin in her hands. “I want to help solve this problem, but I think it’s time you tell me exactly what’s going on.”

  Here was this little mite of a woman, just over five feet tall and light enough to lift with one arm, and she thought—Max started to shake his head.

  “Abby—”

  “Don’t interrupt,” she said, reaching out to place her hand on his arm. Her grip was firm, her voice steady, and he knew she was in deadly earnest.

  “You hired me because I know what this man looks like who gambled with your brother, or who we believe gambled with Monty. Yet you’ve never told me why we’re looking for either man. It’s not a crime to gamble, so I can only assume there’s some other reason Monty would have been in Chicago. Please don’t tell me you’re going to try to send him home like you did me. Even if he’s younger, surely he can’t be so much so that you boss him around, too?”

  “I don’t boss.” Max defended himself, but at the look on her face, he smiled. He supposed he did tend to tell others what to do.

  He briefly closed his eyes, seeing Jerome Smith’s lifeless body. “Someone broke into my father’s warehouse and took everything. They killed Jerome, the bookkeeper and someone I considered a friend. Father told me that Monty disappeared the same night. I can only assume Monty knows something about either the robbery or the murder.”

  “And by some coincidence, you think Monty gambled at Mr. Faro’s saloon in Chicago.”

  “I know he did, otherwise you wouldn’t have his watch. I have to believe someone else at that table is significant in this mystery. That’s why Monty used the watch to leverage his bet. It’s one of only two in the world, and it’s distinctive in design so people tend to notice it. I believe Monty may have assumed he could track the person because others would remember seeing the watch if they were questioned.”

  “But I have the watch now so neither of you can do that.”

  “Right. I figure Monty is pursuing some clue only he knows right now. I am assuming the scar-faced man you won the watch from is the same one to whom Monty lost it. So he’s the one we’re looking for.”