Noble Savage Page 7

  For some reason that bothered him more than her paying for the baked goods. "I ain't your brother," he growled as they emerged onto the board sidewalk, "and don't you forget it."

  The look she slanted at him durn near set his back teeth on fire. He shoved his hands into his front pants pockets, lest he disgrace himself right out here on the street.

  Looking for a neutral topic of conversation, he said, "Who was that swell you ran away from back at Council Bluffs?"

  Katie strode along beside him for several steps. Her stride didn't quite match his--her legs were a sight shorter--but he never had the feeling he'd had with some ladies that he needed to stop every so often and let her catch up.

  "His name is Hamilton Steens Whitney the Third," Katie said in an exaggerated accent. "He's from Boston, and he's a really rich, powerful man."

  From the corner of his eye, he saw how she chewed her lip.

  "You're not going to believe this."

  "Try me."

  "For some strange reason, he's decided I'm the perfect wife for him. And he won't take no for an answer."

  "And you don't want to marry him?"

  "Luke, I don't even know him!"

  She stopped, and the fiddle case swung against his leg with a solid thump. It was far heavier than it looked. "The only time I've ever spoken to him was when he tried to kidnap me in Council Bluffs. He'd followed me all the way from Boston."

  "Kidnap you?" He couldn't help but laugh. "That's a good one. He wants to marry you, so he's going to carry you off like somebody in some fairy tale."

  "I knew you wouldn't believe me!" She stepped out, walking briskly.

  Luke had to jog a few steps to catch up with her. "Hell...I mean, tarnation, Katie! You really expect me to believe a man from Boston is gonna come all the way to Iowa so he can kidnap a bride?" Luke had figured her folks were rich and the swell had wanted to hold her for ransom. Or maybe he was part of a blood feud against her family. But a determined suitor who wouldn't take no for an answer? It sounded like something out of one of those penny dreadfuls Mick liked to read.

  "I don't care whether you believe me or not, Luke Savage," she flung over her shoulder. "It happened. I'm grateful for your help, because if you hadn't been there back in Council Bluffs, I might be on my way back to Boston right now." Her eyes were just about spitting fire.

  Luke walked beside her for a few steps, thinking there had to be something she wasn't telling him.

  "Hey, I believe you. I really do." He tried to smile reassuringly. "I just had a little trouble with it at first. I mean, I ain't heard of anything like that since the War. Not right out in broad daylight and all."

  Her pace slowed and she nodded without returning his smile. "I know. I wasn't expecting it either, or I'd have been on my guard. That's why I got caught unawares. I thought I was still in civilization."

  "All civilization means is that there's usually a policeman you can call. It doesn't mean the outlaws aren't about their work. Just that they ain't so visible."

  "I know. But I guess I'd forgotten." She shrugged. "Well, anyway, I got away. Thanks to you." Her sudden smile was like sunshine after a hailstorm. "So now you know why I traded all my fancy clothes for these. You almost didn't recognize me. I'm hoping he wouldn't either."

  Luke nodded, knowing he'd recognize her in any getup. But he kept the thought to himself.

  The depot was still empty when they returned to it. According to the big clock on its wall, they still had a while before their train pulled out. Luke offered Katie his bedroll for a pillow. She accepted, giving him unexpected satisfaction. He dozed too, leaning against the bench on which she lay.

  It wasn't that he really believed her story of the reason behind her attempted kidnapping. On the other hand, a little prudence wouldn't hurt, just in case there was some truth to it.

  But he couldn't sleep. His mind gnawed on the possibility that the stranger who'd loaded his gelding on the stock car was related to Japhet Breedlove. Word was that the Breedloves were a fair-sized clan, come out of Kentucky before the War to ride with Bill Anderson's band. He'd only known Japhet and Hezekiah, who'd ridden for the Old Man season before last. They'd been paid off before the drive reached the Kansas line. Troublemakers. Maybe worse, though no one had been able to prove Hezekiah had raped and killed the woman in the burned-out homestead.

  Nobody believed Kiah had found her dead, for her blood hadn't dried when Luke, Mick and the Old Man arrived to investigate the fire. But they'd no proof, and none of them had a taste for hanging a man unless they knew he was guilty.

  Was it only coincidence that a man looking eerily like Japhet was headed towards Cheyenne?

  Or were the Breedloves gathering somewhere, to revenge Japhet's death?

  Chapter Six

  Katie was thoughtful as the train pulled away from the station. They would be in Cheyenne sometime late tonight, Laramie early tomorrow morning.

  That was when she had to make a decision.

  She could get off in either Cheyenne or Laramie and take the stage to Salt Lake City. Or she could stay aboard and ride to the end of track--wherever that was this week. The train would be faster, by almost a day, and far more comfortable. Her memories of the trip East were still vivid, and she'd do almost anything to avoid another journey like that, careening across the countryside, unable to stretch her legs. More than likely crammed between two smelly, profane would-be miners.

  She laughed softly at how uppity she sounded, for a girl who'd not even seen a town until she was fifteen.

  Luke thumbed his hat back off his forehead. "What's so funny?"

  "I was remembering my journey East, and thinking how I'd changed in the past three years."

  "Three years? He...heck, you've changed in the past three days!" His look took in her hair, her shabby coat. "The first time I saw you, I thought you were the prettiest lady I'd ever seen. All spiffed up in that fancy red coat, with your little fur hat sitting atop your curls."

  A small frisson of warmth climbed Katie's spine. "Where was that?"

  "The depot at Chicago. There you were, with all those other swells, looking good enough to eat. I wanted to go after you, to ask you if you were a real live girl." His mouth twisted in a half-smile. "I did follow you, until a porter stopped me."

  "Oh, Luke, that's...well, that's really sweet." Being the focus of masculine admiration was nothing new to Katie, but she'd rarely had it stated so artlessly, so sincerely. "I'm really glad I met you in Council Bluffs."

  "So am I."

  His voice caressed her, reminding Katie of the warmth of his lips, the hard strength of his hands, the smell of him, wood smoke and horse, and a wonderful, masculine odor that beguiled her senses.

  She decided to change the subject. "You seemed worried about something a while ago. Is it anything I can help with?"

  His dark eyes went opaque, as if a door had closed. "Nope. Just thinkin' about something that happened back in Kansas. Nothing important."

  "That man all dressed in black clothes? Does it have something to do with him?"

  "No...I don't think so, anyhow. He's a stranger to me."

  Laying a hand on his arm, Katie said, "Luke, if there's anything troubling you, tell me. You've helped me so much. Let me help you."

  He jerked his arm away. "Katie, there ain't anything you can do to help me. What troubles I've got are of my own making, and there's nobody can help me."

  "But--"

  "Leave it be!" He turned his shoulder to her and leaned against the window.

  The little she could see of his mouth showed it a tight, straight line. His shoulders were hunched and his body so tense she could practically hear it thrum.

  Darkness caught them before they reached Cheyenne, the heavy, early dark of a cold, cloudy November night. Luke had stared out across the featureless land all afternoon, knowing if he didn't, Katie would try to talk to him.

  And he wasn't in the mood for talking, not even to her.

  He had to figu
re out the best thing to do, before they got to Cheyenne. If the Breedloves were following him, staying with Katie Lachlan would put her in danger, the very thing he'd been paid to prevent.

  Even if they weren't looking to avenge Japhet's death, they weren't a bunch he'd choose to have anywhere nearby. Soon as Kiah saw Katie, he'd be on her like bees on clover and she wouldn't have a chance. At least that fancy swell wanted to marry her. If Kiah Breedlove got his hands on her...

  Well, he wasn't going to let that happen.

  Listen to me! How many times have I sworn never to let anybody depend on me again?

  I knew I should have told Mick what he could do with this job!

  "Cheyenne! Ten minutes to Cheyenne! Supper stop!"

  Luke sat up. Beside him he felt Katie stir. Heard her yawn.

  She wiped a hand across her eyes and covered another yawn. There was a pink crease in her cheek where she'd rested it against her fiddle case. "I never thought to ask," she said. "How far are you riding the train?"

  Caught on the horns of a dilemma, Luke considered carefully what to say. He'd looked at a map, back in Chicago, but Laramie had been the only stop it showed past Cheyenne. Asking her how far she planned to stay on the train would be a good way to lose her trust. Then how would he stay close enough to keep an eye on her?

  "Laramie," he said making a wild guess. "To Laramie." He couldn't imagine she'd be taking the chance of getting stuck out in the middle of nowhere. From what the ticket agent back in Chicago had said, travel beyond Cheyenne was far safer and more dependable on the stage.

  "Oh." There was a wealth of disappointment in that one word. "I was hoping you were going on to the end of track."

  Well, hell! He did his best to look surprised. "You mean they'll let you?"

  "Luke, they'd sell you a ticket clear to California if you were to ask." Her chuckle invited him to share her amusement. "But a good bit of the way you'd be riding a stage. That's what I'll do when we run out of rails."

  "And you don't know where that'll be?" He shook his head. Most of the women he'd known wouldn't have come this far, not knowing what was ahead. He felt like he was taking her brother-in-law's money under false pretenses. Katie Lachlan needed a bodyguard like he needed a fancy, gold-headed cane.

  "Where are you going? You never did say?"

  "Somewhere there's land. I figure to claim some land, try my hand at raising horses. Always wanted to, ever since I was just a tad. But I've been giving some serious thought to seeing what I can do with mules, too. The Army still buys 'em, and there's demand for them in the freight business."

  "Well, there's lots of good land ahead, that's for sure, especially in Idaho Territory." She re-knotted the scarf around her rolled-up quilt. "The Boise Valley is hard to beat for pasturage. There's some nice country over along the Payette, too." Her glance was swift, questioning. "And our winters are fairly mild."

  "I don't know anything about Idaho. Never heard it was much of anything but sagebrush and sand."

  The train lurched to a stop, the scream of brakes drowning her reply. But she'd given Luke something to think about, that was for sure.

  He wouldn't mind living where he could get to know Katie Lachlan a little better.

  * * * *

  Cheyenne was a meal stop, as well as a busy rail yard. "You can leave your gear at the depot," the conductor told them, "since your train won't be made up for a while yet. Nobody'll bother it there."

  Katie took her fiddle case with her anyway, and Luke carried his bedroll. As they left the train, she noticed a private car on the next track over. It sat at the end of a string of empty passenger cars, in place of a caboose. If it was anything like the one she'd traveled from Boston to Chicago on, it had its own kitchen, perhaps its own chef.

  The food at meal stops was probably the worst thing about traveling. She was getting tired of beans and buffalo, undercooked potatoes, and coffee so strong it threatened to grow hair on even the most feminine chest. Three times a day. A cup of tea and Ma's buttermilk biscuits topped with chokecherry jelly sounded like heaven.

  The passenger and stock railcars stood alone on a track when Katie and Luke emerged from the dining hall. Moving lights showed activity up the track, where some of the freight cars were being uncoupled.

  "I ought to check my stock," Luke said.

  "I'll come along and say hello to Sheba."

  Salome started complaining as soon as they entered the stock car, and Lafayette added his two bits' worth. Katie went to Sheba's stall and scratched behind her ears as Luke replenished their grain and water.

  "You're spoiling her," Luke said, giving the donkey a swat on the rear. She switched her tail.

  "I'm spoiling her? Who's feeding his stock grain when there's perfectly good hay to be had?" She gestured toward the manger at the rear of the car.

  "Winter's coming. I want 'em to have plenty of fat stored up."

  "How much does the railroad charge you for the grain?" Katie hadn't ever thought about the logistics of shipping livestock. Did they feed cattle on their way to market, she wondered? She'd seen dozens of railcars full of cattle and hogs around Chicago, all bound for the great stockyards.

  "Too much," Luke told her, forking straw into the mule's stall, "so I bought my own, back in Omaha."

  Katie moved out of his way, going to offer a small handful of grain to a lovely sorrel gelding in the stall next to Lafayette. "Yes, you're a pretty one," she crooned, as the horse nuzzled her hand, seeking the last few morsels.

  "Let's go." Luke replaced the pitchfork against the outer wall. "I'd like to walk a spell before we reboard."

  Katie followed him with alacrity.

  They walked along the coupled passenger railcars, past the ornate private car and beyond, until the lights of the switchyard were far behind them. Luke was silent as they crunched through the cinders along the track, and Katie had nothing to say. Her mind was working furiously, though. Luke hadn't sounded dead set on getting off the train in Laramie. More like he'd been told it was the end of the line so that was where he'd stop.

  She'd felt a disturbing sense of loss when he'd said it, too. She wasn't ready to say goodbye. Not yet. Luke Savage was different from any man she'd met, and she wanted to learn what made him so. No matter how long it took.

  But how could she say so, without giving him a totally wrong impression?

  They walked far enough that the air smelled of rain and sage, instead of the coal smoke and hot oil she had gotten used to. When they turned, Katie could see the lights of the rail yard and the town spread out for what looked like miles. "I wish it were light enough to see. There's something about all the hustle and bustle that's exciting." She remembered Cheyenne as a sleepy little stage station, with no pretensions toward townhood. It would certainly never be that again.

  There were lights in the private railcar. One of the railroad backers, no doubt. She'd bet they were out here keeping a close eye on their investment.

  They drew closer and Katie could see someone on the observation platform. A red spark waxed and waned, moving as the man standing there raised a cigar to his mouth, then lowered it. As she watched, someone opened the door behind him, casting light across his face.

  She stopped walking. She couldn't help herself. "Oh my God!"

  "What? What's the matter, Katie?" Luke asked, stopping beside her.

  "It's him!" she whispered, so softly he almost didn't hear her. For a moment she stood dead still, staring up at the man on the platform. Then she dodged back into the shadows between two boxcars.

  Luke didn't know what was going on, but he knew she was either mad as hell or scared to death. Maybe a little of both.

  "Let's get out of here," he said, pulling her back the way they'd come. She stumbled once, then trotted beside him. From behind them came the sound of low-pitched laughter.

  Katie went along with him until they crossed behind some boxcars and were out of sight of the private railcar. Then she set her feet and pulled him to a stop
. "Let me go!"

  He held tightly to her wrist. "Why? You gonna go back there and shoot him?"

  "Yes! I mean...no. What makes you think I'd do a thing like that?"

  "Lady, you were either mad enough to blow a hole in that dude, or you were scared witless." Wrapping an arm around her waist, he forced her to walk beside him. "Whichever, it was time for you to walk away. You meet your enemy all hot under the collar, he's got the advantage." A lesson every soldier learned the hard way.

  Katie stayed close beside him, not speaking, but not releasing her vise-like grip on his arm. Luke became aware of something heavy and hard in her skirt, bumping his leg with each step. "You carrying a gun?" He meant it as a joke.

  Her hand darted down to touch the heavy object, slipped between the folds of her skirt. "I'd be stupid not to, traveling alone like I am."

  The strength of her voice stopped him in his tracks. Releasing his hold on her waist, Luke spun to face her. "Damn it, Katie, you really are!"

  Even in the dark, he could see the flash of silver as her hand came from her pocket. "I said I was." She held it out for his view. A one-shot derringer, ornately chased with silver. It nestled nicely in her small hand.

  "And I suppose it's loaded, too?" He couldn't keep the sarcasm from his voice.

  Katie's frown showed in her voice. "Luke, I'd be a fool to carry an unloaded gun, now wouldn't I? That'd do me a whole lot of good."

  "People who carry guns are askin' to get shot," he said, resuming his walk. He let her decide whether to join him or not.

  Damn it all, anyhow! Luke ground his teeth. Here he'd been thinking what an easy job he'd have, protecting the pretty little girl from the occasional ruffian and ladies' man she might encounter. He hadn't entirely believed her story about the Boston swell. In his opinion, she must have given Whitney some reason to expect she'd welcome his attentions.

  So why was she so scared of him? Scared enough to be carrying a loaded gun for protection.

  What the dickens kind of crazy mess had he got himself into the middle of?