“You?” “Your wife?” Their voices mimicked surprise.
“You read the cables,” Lucas reminded them, his voice laced with steel. “You know a woman was kidnapped.”
There was a very unhappy silence.
“What do you want?” the engineer demanded.
“If you take my wife and me back to Virginia City, your participation will be forgotten.”
“We were hired…”
“Now or there’s no deal.”
They grumbled but acquiesced. “Very well. Use the private car at the rear,” the engineer added.
Lucas inclined his head. “Thank you,” he said ironically.
He handed Rachel up the stairs and into the small palace car. It was elegantly equipped in a very masculine style with an abundance of brass, including brass spittoons at every aisle seat. But she was given no time to compare it to the Empress.
The train jerked into motion an instant later, sending Rachel into an undignified heap in a chair. Still, she automatically tucked her mittens safely into her coat. The train’s whistle blew loudly, peremptorily warning all comers of its approach, underlined by the loud clanging of its bell.
Lucas caught himself on the chair’s back before swinging himself into a chair across the aisle from her.
Rachel glanced at her husband. She’d left her shotgun on the settee closest to them, as had he, although he still had his Colt. “Virginia City?”
He shrugged, packing his cap and mittens into his coat. Like her, he hadn’t taken off his coat in the chilly palace car. “It’s only a few miles away and you can stay with the Donovan & Sons’ staff there. I can return in a few minutes to help Donovan.”
She nodded, determined not to ask any more questions. God forbid he tell her that she’d have to stay in another cell.
The train’s wheels whirred, not the usual comforting rumble. It leaned into a corner—and moved faster, instead of slowing down. Someone ran along the roof overhead.
“Brakeman?” Rachel queried.
Lucas nodded, although his face turned still and harsh.
The train stretched for another corner and slowed slightly this time. But the wheels still weren’t turning properly, only sliding like a sleigh. The brakes were working somewhat but not the wheels—on an icy, twisty, downhill track during a winter storm.
A great whistle blew in the distance, long and deep, followed by a bell.
But if their train could stop before they reached the junction, they’d be safe.
Rachel reached out her hand to take Lucas’s.
The rear door was wrenched open, revealing a wild-eyed Collins. He pointed a Colt at them, as though he’d rather use it than take his next breath.
“You!” He spat on the floor toward Rachel. “You killed my boy.”
Lucas made a convulsive movement for his gun before his hand dropped away.
Rachel’s throat closed, understanding what he couldn’t say and would probably never explain. He would never take the slightest chance that she might be harmed. No matter what, she’d have to make the first move. Oh, dear.
Collins stepped inside, balancing himself easily against the jolting, swaying car. He was, after all, a sailor and accustomed to similar terrifying conditions.
Ahead, brakes screamed but the train still slid through the next corner and gathered speed. Surely their brakes would work soon and keep them from being crushed by the larger train. Or worse, derailing…
“You will both die,” Collins announced conversationally.
“What about the Davis fortune?” Rachel suggested desperately. She’d marry any demon to save Lucas.
Collins shook his head, tears slowing tracking down his cheeks. “Nothing matters now except seeing you two in hell, for destroying my boy. It’ll be a slow death so you’ll both know what’s happening and why.”
Not now, not when she had a chance of telling Lucas how much she loved him…
Collins tossed several lengths of rope at Rachel. “Tie him to the arms and legs of his chair with these.”
Rachel gathered them up and squatted down before Lucas, her back to Collins. Their eyes met and his were oh, so very frustrated and angry.
She smiled at him reassuringly and glanced significantly down at the carpet beside him.
He frowned briefly before his eyes widened, an expression of purest agony appearing in them.
She’d just told him she planned to attack Collins—and he’d have to sit still.
She waited. If he moved first, her plan wouldn’t work. If he did so, they had little chance that she could see.
He nodded curtly, a display of trust so pure and hard-won that her heart fell completely into his hands, without reserve.
“What the hell are you waiting for?” thundered Collins and came closer
What the hell, indeed?
Rachel leaned into the aisle, her skirts hiding her deeds from Collins. She picked up the brass spittoon by one handle—a full one, thank heavens for lazy housekeepers—and spun around, hurling it into Collins’s face.
He staggered back, hands flying to his eyes, and cursed.
Rachel quickly fell prone, out of Lucas’s way.
He leaped out of his chair and attacked their enemy—ignoring his Colt, probably to protect her from a wild shot on this madly rocking train. They managed to draw their knives, but lost them all too soon. Bare hands were more useful, given the need to fight for balance at the same time.
So they fought together like lions, clawing and gouging at each other. They rolled around on the floor and were thrown back and forth against the tufted, carved furniture while the train moved faster and faster. All of the spittoons rolled around the floor in an unholy mess.
Rachel fumbled onto her knees and crawled away from the fight, determined not to handicap Lucas. She found herself near the rear door and the guns, but couldn’t get off a shot at Collins without hitting Lucas.
The great train’s headlight was growing larger and larger, its light brighter and brighter as it flashed more and more frequently into the car. Its long, deep whistle sounded again and again.
Their train’s whistle answered, bleating terrified echoes into the night. Their car’s rear door was banging an agitated accompaniment. The brakes screeched repeatedly before giving up with one, last agonized scream. The brakeman shouted a warning and jumped, his voice trailing off. The train was moving so rapidly everything outside was a single, continuous blur. The crew shouted something as well before they, too, leaped.
They couldn’t stop the train. It would either derail on this icy, curving track or be run over by the larger train, which was coming downhill and couldn’t easily stop.
The great train’s headlight shone into the private car, setting the crimson upholstery ablaze with light.
Lucas hurled a punch into Collins, making the older man stagger back for an instant. “Jump, Rachel. Jump now!”
She gulped and obeyed him. All he’d ever asked of her was unquestioning obedience. Difficult as it was in this minute, she gave him that gift.
Rachel had done exactly what he said! For an instant, Lucas was uplifted by shock and insane joy. Would he have the pleasure again? Only if he dealt with Collins.
Stronger than he’d been before, he hit the bastard in the gut.
Collins staggered and fell onto the settee yet again, as he’d done so many times before.
But this time, instead of trying to stay aboard and continue the fight, Lucas dove forward down the aisle, heading toward the back door and ignoring the spittoons. He caught the frame and pulled himself up to his feet, inches away from the open air and Rachel.
The train careened around another corner, moving faster and faster. The bigger train’s headlight was as bright as high noon in the Arizona desert.
Lucas looked back at Collins down the length of the palace car.
The older man stared at him, his face battered and bleeding, death walking in his eyes. He started to stagger forward, every finger curle
d into a claw.
Lucas turned his back on that frozen, angry stubbornness, stepped onto the platform, and leaped into he knew not what—except that it was his only chance of life.
He tumbled end over end into the snow, immediately blinded by the fine, white crystals. They pounded him and softened him, all at the same time, until he came to rest in what seemed an enormous, frozen sand dune. He cupped his hands in front of his mouth and shoved the snow away, using the same motion he’d use for swimming.
To his utter relief, the darkness fell away and the frozen gale greeted him, blasting the rest of the snow from his body. He fought his way out, ignoring any soreness.
He’d managed to land on the last stretch of somewhat level ground before the deep, narrow canyon.
The great train’s whistle blew again, almost deafening him, and its wheels screeched, shooting sparks over the white slopes.
The smaller train ignored it, cinders flying out of its smokestack as if it were racing to hell. In the palace car, Collins was standing erect, his head held high.
Despite everything he knew, Lucas took a step forward to warn the man.
The track dropped and curved, marking the start of the slope down to the main line and the gorge’s lip. The engine jumped forward, as if eager for the challenge—and derailed.
It crashed into the canyon, dragging its tender and the palace car with it. Metal tore and screamed as if human. It bounced from boulder to boulder, before smashing into the base with a boom that almost sent Lucas to his knees. Black smoke burst out the canyon, licked by crimson flames.
Lucas edged forward and looked down. The gorge had become a fire pit, full of twisted, burning metal. No one could have lived through it.
“Lucas!” Rachel ran at him, half-stumbling through the drifts.
He spun and caught her to him, pulling her away from the canyon’s edge. Praise the Lord she was safe.
He managed not to read her a lecture about running in avalanche-prone snow near canyons. All of that was unimportant when she was in his arms with her hair teasing his throat.
The freight train’s crew finally arrived, exclaiming over the madman who’d ridden the runaway train into the gorge, and the time for private conversation was over.
Lucas slid farther down into the Empress’s enormous bathtub, grateful for the miracle of modern plumbing which had erased the spittoons’ reek. Even Rachel had barely tolerated being near him after the reunion’s first joyous rush had worn off. He could have ignored the myriad aches and pains from that ride or the dive onto the mountainside. But he had to admit that soaking them out was a pleasure.
He’d returned from the Bluebird less than an hour ago, together with Rachel and Donovan. The tall Irishman had barely waited for their train to slow down before he’d been running toward his wife, while she’d hurled herself at him heedless of bitter weather or onlookers. Rachel had nestled closer to Lucas as they watched, and he’d wondered how much she’d fancy such an uninhibited greeting. After that, they’d retired to the Empress where she’d chosen the smaller bathroom near the other staterooms, insisting that he’d need the largest one possible.
It was nearly midnight now and the Reno rail yard was remarkably quiet. Even the whistles and bells of passing trains sounded friendly, like neighbors calling to say hello. In the distance, a heavy train rumbled past, passing a pleasant vibration onto the Empress.
Like the rest of the master suite, the bathroom was an exotic fantasy—this one inspired by a Russian bathhouse. Brilliantly colored tiles in a wild variety of small, intricate birds, animals, and flowers covered the floor and every wall up to shoulder height. Above that, red damask swept over the walls and ceiling. Soft, hand-knotted rugs were scattered across the floor, while the temperature was cozily warm, thanks to the red and black stove in the corner.
He crossed his arms behind his head, plotting the best way to convince Rachel to stay with him. Surely she’d enjoy a trip to Yosemite, that legendary valley. Once there, he could talk to her—or seduce her…
The doorknob clicked.
Lucas cocked an eyebrow. Had she sent Braden in with some clothing?
The door swung open and Rachel peeked in. She wore a black silk robe belted around her waist, which emphasized her skin’s purity and the narrowness of her waist. Her chestnut hair was pinned loosely atop her head, allowing a few curls to caress her neck. He’d swear that she wore nothing else—certainly not a corset.
His breath hitched, almost audibly. His cock promptly, predictably, swelled with approval.
Her amber eyes were a little nervous. “May I join you?”
“Certainly.” He started to sit up, wondered if he should be respectable and not display his reaction to her, and decided he didn’t give a damn.
He reclined against the bathtub’s rim and smiled encouragingly. This would be easier if he could start by seducing her.
She drew up a stool beside him and sat down. “More champagne to celebrate with? Or would you prefer something else?”
He’d barely had two sips from his first glass, but now that she was here, he’d certainly change his attitude. “Champagne, of course.”
They toasted each other and drank the bubbling gold wine, her eyes heavy-lidded and sensual.
But she caught his wrist when he started to bring the fragile crystal back toward the tray. He cocked his head inquiringly.
Her slender fingers were trembling as they touched the long bruise on his arm where he’d bounced down the hillside. “You were right to have made me stay in Ogden.”
“But I should have tried to discuss it with you more.”
She shrugged that off. “I’m as stubborn as you are; I wouldn’t have listened to you, no matter how long you talked.”
He nearly laughed, recognizing the truth in that.
“But, mostly, I should have trusted your wisdom from the start. If I had, the Hawkins brothers would still be alive.” Her golden eyes were damp.
“Dammit, Rachel, you can’t blame yourself for everything.”
His throat tightened. He set his glass down on the tile floor and swept her into his arms, silk robe and all.
She gasped but held on, barely managing to kick off her slippers before they, too, were wet. “Lucas,” she protested unconvincingly.
He ran his thumb over her cheek. “Collins and Maitland were devious, ruthless men, darling, who were determined to steal you. They burned the Reno roundhouse, simply to stop any pursuers. Until Donovan arrived, it was very hard to outmatch them.”
“Do you really think so?” Hope started to flower in her expression.
He nodded firmly, unwilling to admit to himself just how much truth there unfortunately was. “Yes, I’m sure. The Hawkins brothers’ deaths are not entirely your fault.”
She sniffed and laid her head against his damp shoulder, her curls tickling his chin, ignoring her damp silks—and the swell of his cock against her. “Thank you. If nothing else, I avenged them.”
“And very neatly indeed.” He crooned to her softly, trying to ignore his racing pulse.
“So much lost,” she muttered. “To think all of this started when Elias died.”
“I know you married Davis for love…”
She sat bolt upright and gaped at him. “Love? Good God, no!”
“But he always behaved as though it was a love match,” Lucas protested. “Why else would he have married you?”
She shrugged, visibly selecting her words before she began to speak. “I’d nursed Elias ever since he returned from the War and his wounds didn’t disturb me. An attachment developed on his side during that time, and it grew.”
“But not on yours,” he probed. She’d never loved Davis? There might be hope for him.
She shook her head. “No. I liked him very well as a friend, but I never desired more. Then he proposed.” She hesitated before continuing. “Our fathers persuaded me that I was the only woman he’d ever marry. Everyone knew that his remaining time would be very shor
t. Elias’s father was concerned about protecting the Davis assets, such as the bank accounts, horses, and great books. But my father…He convinced me that the Davis family servants I’d grown up with, my friends and family, could best be protected if I became Elias’s wife and heir.”
Lucas dared to rub her arms lightly, reassuring her—and gentling her again to his touch. “You believed him.”
She nodded firmly, her face graven. “Father was entirely correct. Otherwise, the trustees would have turned them off within a week of Elias’s funeral. And Elias did better with me than with anyone else. If I’d walked away—and his health had worsened—I would never have forgiven myself. It was more than enough to trade a few years of my life for—and I found a few joys with Elias, as well.”
His shoulders suddenly seemed to stand a foot taller, even though he was in the tub. He shook his head, throwing off the last of an old burden. “I love you, Rachel.”
Her great eyes widened, turning as golden as a cat’s. The wet silk highlighted her lovely figure and he forced himself to look up at her face.
“You don’t have to say that.” But she caressed his cheek, even as she spoke.
“It’s God’s own truth, darling. I don’t know how not to hold you fast and tight—and God knows I’ll probably watch over our children as though they were the only ones ever born on this earth. But I swear I’ll work to let you do what you want, to go where you choose, and take chances as you please, if you’ll only stay with me. And I promise to discuss matters with you, as my most trusted partner.”
Joy glinted in her eyes. “I vow to always adore you and cherish you. I, too, promise to talk to you, especially when I believe the subject is difficult.”
He caught her face between his hands. “My beloved wife.”
Tears glimmered on the tips of her lashes. “I will do my best to be a good wife to you and to be strong enough for this frontier country. I want our children to grow up here, not in Boston where a man’s future depends on his father’s.”
He could have jumped out of the tub and capered around the bathroom like a fool. “Thank God. I’d have lived there for you, but I’d rather build our lives here.”
The Northern Devil Page 26
