Silken Promises

by Lisa Bingham

  Alma sighed, regretting the fact that Amelia’s memory was incredibly short. “Most everyone is still eating at the café. We need to make our way through the train and see if we can’t scrounge up something to eat. We’ll need something to last us until Kansas, where the first horse-and-buggy excursion is scheduled to take place. You and I both heard Jacob talking to his men about the prison break. If the man we saw was Krupp, I doubt he’ll show himself before then. He would have to wait for the confusion of a larger station, where there aren’t so many railway officials checking everyone’s dining tickets. Once we know it’s him for certain, we’ll warn Jacob.”

  “What if it wasn’t Krupp we saw?”

  Alma thought a moment. “Then we’ll wait until Denver. That way we’ll be too far on the road for Jacob to send us back. We’ll just reassume our positions as Fiona’s chaperones and head home to Madison at another time.”

  “Oh.”

  They crept through the darkness, making their way to the first sitting car. Finding it empty except for an old man at one end who snored, they climbed aboard, creeping down the aisles, peeking into bakery boxes, haversacks, and wicker baskets, stealing an apple here, a biscuit there, and slipping it into their satchels. While they looked, Mr. Peebles kept watch. Only a few minutes had passed before he hissed, “The passengers are starting to come back.”

  “Rats,” Alma muttered under her breath. “Let’s go, Amelia.”

  “But I just—”

  “We don’t have time to dally!”

  “But I found a—”

  “Just take whatever it is and let’s get out of here!”

  Alma grabbed her sister’s elbow, tugging her to the rear platform, where Mr. Peebles waited to help them take the steps to the ground. Then they were half walking, half running back to the baggage car.

  “Whew!” Alma breathed as she shut the door, closing them all into a thick blackness. “We made it.”

  Mr. Peebles guffawed, then choked it back, lowering his voice to a whisper. “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

  Alma flung her hand out into the blackness, patting until she found the rough, woolen fabric of his sleeve. “We’re sorry we dragged you into our little set of worries.”

  “No. No! I’m having the time of my life, I assure you.”

  There was the rasp of a sulphur-tipped match, and Amelia held the sputtering light aloft. “Alma!” she blurted in shock.

  Glancing down, Alma realized she hadn’t placed her hand on Mr. Peebles’s arm, as she’d supposed. Since all three of them were kneeling on the floor, her aim had been considerably lower.

  “My apologies, Mr. Peebles.”

  “None needed, Miss Alma.”

  Amelia yelped and blew out the match, as it threatened to singe her fingers. There was a moment of silence, the rustling of her reticule, then she lit another.

  “What did you find to eat?” Mr. Peebles asked. “I know it isn’t polite to enquire, but I’m famished!”

  Alma pried open her carpetbag, revealing a veritable feast inside. “I’ve two apples, a bag of raisins, three biscuits, a loaf of bread, a wedge of cheese, and a crock of cider. Amelia? What have you got?”

  The match puttered out. A beat of silence filled the car.

  “Amelia?”

  “Well, I—”

  “Don’t tell me you didn’t find anything.”

  “No, I—”

  “Amelia, light another match, for heaven’s sake!”

  The rasp of the matchstick was followed by the pungent scent of sulphur. Amelia’s withered face swam into view, her brow clearly furrowed in distress.

  “Amelia?”

  “I failed to find any food.”

  Alma’s brow creased in annoyance and she eyed the bulging sides of Amelia’s bag. “Then what, pray tell, did you find? A cat?”

  “Well, no, I…” Sighing, she opened her bag one-handed. “I suppose one of Jacob’s deputies brought it with him. The careless man left it alone and unguarded under his seat.” She hurriedly added, “It was ours to begin with, so I didn’t see why I couldn’t take it back!”

  “Good heavens, what have you done?” Alma leaned forward to peer into the depths of the carryall. She drew back again, drawing an incredulous breath. “Our dynamite?”

  “Um-hmm.”

  Alma grinned and repeated with great satisfaction. “Our dynamite!”

  Peebles looked from one woman to the other in disbelief, then looked for himself. Even in the dim light, he paled most noticeably.

  “For God’s sake, Miss Amelia,” he squeaked. “Blow out the match!”

  Fiona waited over a day for her next encounter with Darby Kensington. She and Jacob stayed in the railway car, making love, talking, idling their time away—but it was not a comfortable situation. The seriousness of their assignment hung over their heads like a sword until they soon lapsed into silence, Jacob staring out the window, Fiona shuffling cards, playing solitaire, and boning her skills.

  During this time, Ethan engaged Kensington in a few lighthearted games of poker. He drank enough to appear a little “loose” and answered a few questions about the mysterious widow.

  Kensington was interested, there was no doubt about it. Maybe his pride was partly to blame. After all, she’d boldly stated that she didn’t consider him to be her equal in cards. Fiona, however, would have added that she thought his ego was also involved. He’d seen the way she gave little actual attention to Ethan and even less to her bodyguard. He was probably thinking that he alone could snare such an aloof woman. He was accustomed to women flocking to him, she was sure. To have one who remained clearly uninterested in his charm must have irritated him to no end.

  Finally, Fiona dressed and readied herself. The train was scheduled to stop in several minutes, and she would encounter Kensington again.

  She wore rust for the occasion. The suit was of China silk, puffed and draped and ruffled from the waist down, and so form-fitting above that she could scarcely breathe. Delicate black lace dripped from her neck and wrists like silk cobwebs, while a fragile layer of fringe edged the flounces.

  This was her business ensemble. The Beasleys had chosen it specifically because of its severity—a severity that only served to enhance the womanly curves it cradled.

  Lifting her skirt, she tucked the derringer into the top of her garter. Jacob’s brows rose.

  “Just in case,” she murmured.

  He didn’t object.

  With Jacob as her escort, she waited until the next rest stop, then made her way into one of the parlor cars, knowing in an instant that she had captured Kensington’s attention. She sat at one of the linen-covered tables, Jacob seated behind her at another table, ever watchful, ever cautious. He spoke softly, looking out the window as if the topic of his dialogue was the weather.

  “So far the only currency Darby has used has been real. Ethan has been able to win enough against the man to determine that.”

  “Is that against his usual pattern?”

  Jacob’s head shook ever so slightly. “He doesn’t seem to use the phony stuff for what he considers ‘petty gambling.’ He saves that for the ‘real’ games.”

  “Then we shall have to see that he has more of a challenge, don’t you think?”

  Fiona withdrew a new package of cards from her reticule, breaking the seal with the tiny bone-handled knife enclosed in the manicure set the Beasleys had given her as a going-away present. How she missed the old gals, how she…

  She glanced up, her gaze flicking to the window. She blinked.

  “Jacob?”

  He didn’t look her way. “Is Kensington coming over?”

  “No.” She tilted her head in order to catch one last glimpse of an elderly pair of women hurrying down the length of the train. In seconds, they were obscured from view. “I thought you said you sent the Beasleys to Madison.”

  “I did. Why?”

  She shook her head. S
he must have been mistaken. She must have grown so accustomed to their company that now she was associating anyone of advanced age with her friends.

  “Good day, Mrs. McFee.”

  She froze for one split second, the low voice spilling over her with overt cultured charm. Fiona cursed herself. By allowing her attention to be swayed for one instant, Kensington had been able to approach without warning

  She took time in answering. Partly to prevent a bit of Irish from exploding from her lips. Partly to give her heart a chance to drop from her throat to its normal position in her chest.

  “Mr. Kensington.”

  “Playing a bit of solitaire, I see. Such a boring game, don’t you think?”

  She didn’t answer, and he sank uninvited into the chair beside her.

  “Where’s the challenge, where’s the match of wits?”

  She finally deigned to meet his gaze. “I take it that you wish to propose an alternate activity.”

  He offered her a grimace that was meant to show false modesty but that could not hide the greed in his eyes. “Perhaps a light game of poker.”

  She gathered the cards, tapping them into a neat stack. Her head tipped to one side as she considered the man opposite and determinedly ignored Jacob, who had grown still and tense behind her. The moment had come for Fiona to earn her pardon.

  “I think not, Mr. Kensington.” The gambler stiffened in affronted dignity, but she continued without a pause, “I never take any sort of card game lightly.” She began to shuffle the deck with practiced ease. “If you wish to play with me, the stakes must be truly interesting—if not a bit… dangerous. It’s the only way I do business, Mr. Kensington.”

  His lips twitched at the unexpected challenge.

  “Very well, Mrs. McFee. Name your game.”

  “I believe poker would be amusing. Jacob,” she called without turning, without taking her eyes from her opponent. “Would you be so kind as to retrieve the satchel with my chips and my gaming money? It seems that Mr. Kensington and I have decided to while away the afternoon matching wits.”

  “We’ve got to split up, each of us take one side of the train just in case.” Alma ducked behind one of the boxcars, and faced her sister. “The excursion will resume in a quarter-hour. We’ve got to determine if the man we saw was Krupp.”

  “What makes you think he’s going to show himself at this stop, Alma?” Amelia inquired, peering cautiously over her shoulder, afraid that Jacob would catch them before they had the proper information to arm themselves.

  “Each time the train has taken on water and fuel, we’ve cracked open our own door and looked down the line. Did we see anything?”

  “No.”

  “Exactly.”

  Amelia’s brows pursed. “Exactly… what?”

  “Horses.”

  “Beg pardon?”

  “They loaded horses onto the boxcar, correct?”

  “Ye-es.”

  “Well they’ve got to give them water, don’t they? They can bring all the grain and hay they want, but the water would be too awkward and too heavy to bring along for an entire trip. Eventually they’ve got to run out of whatever emergency supplies they brought and bring their mounts to water.” She pointed to the troughs not ten yards away from the boxcar where they believed Krupp was hiding. “Today would be the perfect opportunity.”

  Amelia brightened. “How clever you are, Sister!”

  “Ladies.”

  The two women jumped, their hands going to their breasts. Alma whirled, glaring at the man who’d crept up behind them.

  “Mr. Peebles. Please refrain from sneaking up on us unannounced. We’re old women, you know.”

  “So sorry.” He lowered his voice. “I found Jacob and Fiona. They’re on one of the parlor cars.” His brows waggled significantly. “She’s playing cards with Mr. Kensington.”

  The two women gasped in pleasure. They’d already explained to Mr. Peebles the true nature of Fiona’s assignment.

  “Good. Good!” Alma took a deep breath. “The sooner they finish with that business, the sooner they can turn their attention to Krupp and—”

  The words were jolted from her body when Amelia grasped her arm with a surprisingly vicelike pressure.

  “Amelia! Kindly—”

  “It’s him, Alma!” There was no disguising the true fear in Amelia’s tone. “It’s him!”

  Slowly, Alma turned. They’d been so involved in their conversation, they hadn’t heard the boxcar door slide open or the ramp being put into place. But Amelia had noted the first man to pause at the top and survey the scene.

  “Dear sweet heaven above,” Alma whispered. The years might have hardened him, but there was no mistaking the square jaw, the lean figure.

  “Ladies, is it…”

  “Krupp,” Amelia supplied breathlessly. “That man is Judge Krupp.”

  Ethan left his bag on the railway platform and made his way toward the parlor car. He’d been returning from the midday meal in the railway café, prepared to inform Jacob that Kensington hadn’t appeared, when he’d glanced up and caught a peek of their quarry already engaged in conversation with the Widow McFee. It had taken him little more than five minutes to pack and return.

  He was just approaching the car when Jacob alighted. Seeing Ethan, he stopped until the man had a chance to catch up.

  “She’s done it, I do believe,” Jacob said proudly. “I’ve just been sent to gather her chips and her money.”

  Ethan barely listened to what Jacob said. “I’m off,” he stated bluntly.

  “What the hell?”

  He cocked a thumb at the pair on the train. “You asked me to come, introduce her to the proper climate of people, and whet Kensington’s appetite. She’s… whetted it herself,” he said for want of a better word. When Jacob didn’t seem to understand the significance of his explanation, he said, “Dammit, man! I’ve got a wife holed up in Madison about to have a baby at any minute, with the threat of Krupp appearing on her doorstep to exact revenge.” As he spoke, he slowly made his way back to where he’d left his valise. “I’m going home.”

  Jacob opened his mouth as if to argue, then apparently changed his mind. “Take care of Lettie. Take care of them all.”

  Ethan retrieved his baggage. “You’ll be back as soon as you’ve finished here.” It wasn’t a question.

  Jacob’s eyes glowed with an unholy light. “Krupp is far more of a concern for me than that fool,” he said, indicating the gambler on the train.

  “How’s Fiona doing?”

  An unwilling grin lit his lips. “It seems I underestimated our dear Fiona McFee. She’s more of a lady than I’ve ever met. And her card skills are incredible. She’s been practicing against me for days. I do believe she really can beat the tar out of him.”

  Ethan nodded in satisfaction. “Then I’ll be seeing you soon.” He held out his hand. “Good luck. And see that you hold her dear.”

  At the man’s words, Jacob’s brow rose questioningly.

  “She’s a special woman, Jacob. One in a million. And she loves you more than life itself. In my experience, a love like that is more precious than gold.” Touching his finger to the brim of his hat in salute, he turned and strode toward the ticket house.

  Jacob watched him go. Ethan’s parting comment pricked his conscience. He knew the man was right—and if the truth were told, Jacob knew Fiona loved him. As much as he loved her.

  The thought was sobering, astounding. It was the first time he’d even allowed himself to think such a thing. But it was true. He loved her. And suddenly he didn’t care about the past or possible future repercussions. He only cared about her.

  But first they had a gambler to catch.

  Jacob quickly made his way to the private railway car, retrieving the bag that he and Fiona had packed so carefully the night before. As befitted her station, Fiona had several stacks of greenbacks and her own set of chips—bright wooden discs th
at he’d ordered painted with flowers and cherubs, more to annoy Kensington than for any other purpose. He knew it would grate on the man’s nerves to play with such feminine frippery.

  He turned, about to hurry back, when his eyes caught sight of a gold watch fob lying on the tatted runner of the bureau. His brow furrowed. It was the same piece of jewelry Fiona had been wearing that first day on the train. The same fob that had caused Kensington to react so strangely when he’d seen it.

  Jacob paused, setting the case down. He picked up the fob. It was not entirely unusual to look at: oval-shaped, heavy, with an elaborate etching of filigree. It seemed completely out of character for Mickaleen McFee. In fact, Jacob couldn’t remember the man ever having a watch. Had he stolen it? If so, why had it caused Kensington to take a second look, let alone stumble out of his usual charming role?

  Slipping his thumbnail beneath the edge, Jacob pried it open. In a single instant, his heart began to beat more quickly, his breathing to become shallow.

  To Darby. From your father.

  No.

  The events of the past few weeks loomed into his consciousness. The way Kensington had always seemed one step ahead of them, Krupp’s escape, the murders, the attempts at revenge.

  His fingers closed over the fob, squeezing it so tightly that the etchings bit into his skin. Long ago, long before the Star Council had been formed, long before Jacob had become a deputy, there had been rumors. Judge Krupp had tried to run for state office, but a scandal had come to light about an incident in his past. Stories of an illegitimate son had surfaced, then disappeared just as quickly as they’d come. At the time, the people of the district had assumed that the rumors had been nothing more than a political smear campaign.

  But what if the tales were true? Dear heaven. What if Darby Kensington was Krupp’s son?

  Shoving the fob deep in his pocket, Jacob grabbed the case and began to run. He had to get Fiona off the train. Every muscle of his body, every shred of instinct, every cell of his brain shouted a single warning:

  Trap!

  Chapter 18

  The train began to huff, spilling steam and soot into the late-afternoon air.