AnUnlikelyHeroAmazon Read online

  Instead of the stammering apology she expected, a heavy silence followed.

  His gaze darkened as he stepped closer, dwarfing her beneath his shadow. “Allow me to enlighten you, Miss Talmadge. I’m in charge of things now, so you won’t be doling out the marching orders.” He thumped his thumb against the center of his wide chest. “I will. And while you’re assigned to me, we’ll be doin’ things a bit different from here on out. Starting with you saving your womanly guile for the sonsofbitches who let you spoon-feed them.”

  Alma’s mouth dropped open.

  An ache unfurled in the pit of her stomach as she glared at the pewter buttons riding the front of his shirt.

  He pulled back just enough to allow in a bit of sunlight. “But I’m not a heartless bastard either, so I’ll allow you one traveling case on the train. I’ll freight the remaining trunks to the fort.”

  Her parasol dropped to her shoulder with an unladylike plunk as a rush of heat bathed her cheeks. “One? That is absolutely preposterous! How am I to manage with one?”

  “Trust me. You’ll learn.”

  She’d learn?

  With a resounding whoosh, she closed her parasol.

  What an arrogant pig!

  “Surely you have the decency to allow me time to choose the items I’ll need for my immediate journey?” She glared up at him with an arched brow. A heartbeat later, he withdrew a key-wound watch. He flipped open the elegant cover, and an eighteen-karat-gold Brequet with black enameled Roman numerals glinted in the late-afternoon sun. Why would this man possess such a splendid timepiece?

  “I suggest you decide quickly while I make the necessary shipping arrangement, ” he growled. His detestable smile widened as he slipped the watch into his pocket. “Or these trunks can stay right here on the platform. Matters little to me. In exactly thirty-four minutes, you and I will be on that westbound train, with or without your unmentionable requirements.”

  ***

  Simon Bell stepped from the shadows of the station house and watched Alma Talmadge and her male traveling companion board the train. A smile curved his lips. Revenge had never felt so sweet.

  He signaled to the three men standing near the railcar. They acknowledged with quick nods, then boarded the train behind the couple.

  All too easy…

  Simon shoved his hands into the pockets of his woolen overcoat, sauntering onto the platform. Sunlight fell over him in a wash of warmth. He’d lived in darkness for so long, but now…now he possessed the power to change his life.

  His excitement grew.

  Payback awaited…within easy reach.

  A blast from the locomotive drew him from his thoughts. With a smile, he strolled toward the ticket office, the worn, wooden planks creaking beneath his black hessians. Charles Talmadge’s daughter or her companion would never reach their destination. But first, he must head to Boston and kill the man responsible for every damned thing wrong with his life.

  Chapter Two

  Fort Lowell, Arizona Territory…that same day...

  “Shall I wait for a reply, sir?”

  Colonel Thaddeus Talmadge shook his head. “No. That’ll be all, private.”

  The soldier offered a quick salute, then closed the door.

  Thaddeus picked up the just-delivered telegram from his desk. He leaned back, the squeak of the wooden chair momentarily drowning the tick of the mantel clock across the room. Sunshine filtered in through the narrow window and draped a warm beam across his shoulder. He angled the envelope into its paltry stream and squinted. Hell’s fire, he’d half a mind to requisition a whole damn bank of glass. That way he could see something. A mocking snort fell from his lips. If he did manage to work new windows into his military budget, he’d roast to death from the heat of the summer sun blazing through the panes.

  Maybe he’d just order a fancy new oil lamp from San Francisco. Something bright and ornate and worthy of a colonel’s office. Thaddeus glanced around the sparsely appointed room, the frown on his lips shifting into a lop-sided smirk. Despite his ongoing efforts to bring the fort up-to-date, the high brass back East belittled those who spent money fancifying any of the outposts that hugged civilization’s western edge.

  He squinted again and sighed. Sooner or later, he knew he’d have to break down and buy spectacles for his aging eyes.

  From the parade ground in the center of the fort, a bugler’s sharp trill heralded early morning troop formation. In a few minutes, he’d be required outside for the daily review of his men. He flipped open the envelope and withdrew the crisp velum.

  Thank you for ensuring safe passage for my daughter. If she were to remain in Boston she would be in grave danger. I trust the army scout you assigned to accompany her is a competent soul. Suffice to say my philandering has caught up with me. I promise answers to your questions soon. Your grateful brother, Charles Talmadge

  Thaddeus dropped the telegram to the desktop. Beyond the window, the bugler beckoned once more. Damnit Charles, what’ve you gotten yourself into now? And why mention your indiscretions so openly? He slipped morning-stiff fingers around the handle of his favorite coffee mug. Raising the chipped porcelain, he swallowed the last of his liquid breakfast with a grimace. Good God. His only sibling had built one of the largest shipping empires in the world from practically nothing, yet he’d never been able to control his male urges worth a damn.

  Thaddeus thumped the empty cup beside a stack of requisitions. The last time he’d seen Alma, she’d been a young child at her mother’s funeral. He’d promised Charles he’d visit again soon, but time always got away.

  Tunneling fingers through his thinning hair, he stared down at the words. Charles’ correspondence two days’ before had been pleasant when he’d requested the chaperoning arrangements. Thaddeus agreed, since her fiancé was currently at the fort anyway, and it would be good to see his niece again before the Earl and Alma sailed for England after their wedding. Besides, it was fortuitous that Dillon also just happened to be available.

  But now, intuition’s disconcerting chill ignited a heavy sigh.

  Something wasn’t right. Meshed between the lines of this message lurked a startling tone. Almost frantic, even for his promiscuous brother.

  Alma’s in grave danger?

  Thaddeus leaned across the desk, snapped free a clean slip of paper, then reached for the inkwell and pen. He had enough to worry about with Apache uprisings, raiding Mescalero, and the added responsibilities during General Crook’s absence to corral Sioux up north. He sure as hell didn’t want additional trouble visiting Fort Lowell. Dipping the pen into the indigo liquid, he thanked the Lord he’d had the good sense to press Reed into this god-awful assignment. His best scout would find a warning telegram waiting when he checked for messages at Fort Riley.

  ***

  Two days on the westbound train and they’d crossed into Indiana at midmorning. Alma ached from hours sitting properly poised. A raincloud of tension engulfed her as she shifted once more to relieve the pressure where her corset pinched tender flesh. She stared at the tatting shuttle resting in her hand. After battling the idea for hours, she finally conceded. Conversation with the filthy beast sitting opposite her was better than no conversation at all.

  She lifted her head and glared at the man, his large body slumped in the seat where he‘d been lounging all morning.

  “Mister Reed,” she said. “Are you going to sleep away this entire journey?”

  A full ten seconds passed before he unfolded his arms from across his chest. Another five seconds were lost before he lifted the hat from his face. He peered at her from behind half-closed lids. “I’d like too,” he said, then resettled the Stetson over his eyes.

  Behind her someone coughed, and the sound scraped against Alma’s fraying nerves.

  She tossed aside her handiwork. “I have not uttered a single word since we left the Cincinnati train station early this morning.”

  His mouth tightened beneath the wide brim. “So how ‘bout we
keep it that way.”

  He stretched one long leg, and Alma lost sight of his boot as his foot slipped beneath her seat.

  Soft chuckles floated from the elderly couple sitting across the aisle.

  Alma’s throat squeezed. Had they heard the unpleasant exchange? She glanced at them, an icy smile plastered across her lips.

  Relief enveloped her – they’d paid her no mind. All morning the white-haired lady had been diligently knitting while her companion read from a periodical. Several times, he’d stopped to share the latest news. And together the couple would comment on the foolishness of politics or some other trivial slice of life.

  Alma swallowed, as another sigh slipped out.

  She continued glancing around the railcar. Dozens of people travelled the strip of iron to faraway destinations. Were they all embarking on new lives as well? She scanned the plush drapery embracing the train’s windows. Gold-colored cords held back blue velvet, allowing sunshine to pour inside. An intricate pattern of hammered tin hugged the ceiling. Since leaving Washington, she’d twice-counted the one hundred-and-fifty-two shiny square panels, as well as the brown leather benches, one facing the other, paired up in twenty individual groupings – ten on each side of the railcar.

  A smartly-dressed steward moved up and down the aisle, ready to assist with the passengers’ needs. A newspaper? Cigars? A glass of port or sherry? All were produced with a smile as he pocketed his hard-earned gratuity. Could he as easily supply an end to this madness? Somewhere behind Alma, a baby began to cry. The shushing from the mother hissed through the enclosure with all the intensity of a steaming tea kettle.

  Alma pressed her lips together to stifle a scream. The Baltimore & Ohio had spared no expense in artful decorations, yet no amount of money could make this kind of torture bearable.

  The noonday sun penetrated the window, and a trickle of perspiration inched down the back of her neck. She ached again for the people who loved and supported her and for those who found joy in her smile. Coward, she thought, struggling to ignore the suffocating isolation. At any other time, such distress would be forbidden. She pulled her shoulders back, shrugging off the ill-contented mood.

  Her gaze resettled upon her escort. Why had her uncle assigned such a despicable man? And why had her father agreed? More importantly, why had he changed her wedding plans and instead sent her away with such short notice?

  Alma shoved aside her disappointment, more determined than ever to strike up some kind of conversation with the recalcitrant toad. Anything to take her mind off her intolerable discomfort. “As disagreeable as this arrangement might be, Mister Reed,” she said, stopping short of prodding him on the filthy, denim-covered shin resting much too close to her traveling dress, “ignoring each other will not change the fact we are bound together. So I have decided we must make the best of this situation.”

  Silence. Not even a grunt. Alma linked her fingers, and pressed, “I would like to chat.”

  He pushed back his hat. Like two dark wings, his eyebrows rose over equally dark eyes. “Chat?”

  At the edge in his voice, Alma stiffened. “Yes, chat. ‘Tis a pleasant activity civilized people do to communicate.”

  He refolded his arms. “In your refined world perhaps, but where we vulgar men live, we prefer sleeping over empty words any damn day of the week.”

  Empty words? A few choice ones rumbled through her brain to match the unending profanity that tumbled from his. She subdued another shudder. Bluntness seemed Dillon Reed’s strong suit. She would try that route. “Could you at least try to be courteous?” She held his gaze for a long moment, then stared out the window.

  Unmarred by even one cloud, the sky’s vastness stretched before her – a blue so brilliant her eyes ached. Endless waves of rolling hills and forests spread from horizon to horizon as the leafy canopies of massive trees fluttered beneath the whim of the Indiana wind. Clacking train wheels vibrated beneath her, each revolution carrying her farther and farther away from the familiarity of her world.

  The baby’s hiccupping sobs punctured the stale air.

  Cigar smoke plumed around her.

  I will not scream. Alma shifted, readjusting the corset’s pinch. She glanced toward Dillon Reed, and tightened her lips. Torn between holding back tears and whacking him with her reticule, she mustered a tolerant smile. “You have information about where I’m going. Things I’d like to know. Don’t you think this is as good a time as any to share them?”

  Someone kicked the back of her bench. Alma fought to contain her shriek. She reached up, pulled out her hat pin, and re-speared the Fanchon into a firmer position atop her head. Never in her life had she shared such little space with so many disheveled individuals. And the dreadful breakfast she’d consumed at their morning stop still churned in her stomach. If she retched on the callous brute, it would serve him right.

  A heavy sigh rolled from the man as he pushed himself into a sitting position. He glanced out the window for several seconds before looking back. Sunlight streamed through the pane enveloping him in a patch of brightness. The hat’s wide brim laid a butter soft shadow across his face. “What do you want to know?”

  Pleased with his compliance, Alma leaned forward, yet her attention flicked downward. He flexed his fingers around the tarnished buckle of the gunbelt at his waist. Dry-throated, she met his gaze once more. “Tell me what it’s like...o-out west, I mean.”

  A smirk touched his lips. “It’s big and it’s dangerous.”

  “Be more precise, Mister Reed. Please.” She’d received only one letter from her fiancé in the time he’d been in Tucson, but the flowery descriptions were more annoying than informative.

  “It’s no place for a woman like you.”

  Alma ignored the gauntlet he kept slapping down between them. “Are there many women in the territory?”

  “A few. But they’re accustomed to hardship and have learned to settle for less. They need neither coddling, nor maids to do for them.”

  The brute obviously liked sparing. She indulged him. “But women are women, Mister Reed, and each one brings a certain sense of propriety. Would you not agree?”

  “I’ll agree women change men.”

  Even this cockeyed discussion was better than glaring at him as he slumbered for hours on end. “Now see, we’ve managed to string several sentences together into a conversation. And, in fact, we have even succeeded in remaining civil to one another. As I may, or may not have mentioned, I’m to be married out west upon my arrival, although the thought does upset me. You see, I was hoping to marry in my mother’s rose garden.” She was rambling and she knew it, yet hopeful excitement laced each word. “I was simply waiting on Lord Green to return. He’s currently on assignment out west to study American military protocols at the request of the Queen herself.”

  “I see,” he mumbled, his gaze drifting over her shoulder.

  “Yes, and he is quite important. Why, he’s even entertained your territorial governor.” He kept staring, seemingly ignoring her. Frustration plucked at the chord stringing together Alma’s displeasure. “What in the world are you looking at, Mister Reed?”

  His eyes narrowed. “Nothing you need to worry about.”

  She tilted sideways to block his view. “Well then, perhaps you might know this governor? Or where his yearly cotillion will be held?”

  “His what?”

  Bolstered by the success in recapturing his gaze, Alma pushed onward, “Yes, Lord Green says your governor is quite a colorful character. And he hosts a cotillion in his mansion every summer. I certainly hope we’re not too late to attend.”

  Her escort swiped his hand across his face and inhaled, the sound long and pained. “I’m not sure where your lord gets his information, but there’s no mansions in Tucson. I don’t even know what a damn cotillion is, and the governor doesn’t confer with me about his entertainment schedule.”

  A hesitant smile tucked into the corner of her mouth. “A cotillion is the social event of
the season.” Well-versed in the subject, she was more than willing to share. “It’s where everyone dances until dawn to a stringed orchestra, and champagne is served in the finest of fluted stemware. Everyone dresses in their best attire.” She adored waltzing and for a split second wondered if this lumbering ox even knew how.

  “I hate to disappoint you, Miss Talmadge, but the closest thing Fort Lowell has to an orchestra is an odd collection of brass instruments and a few Mexican mariachis.” He flipped the gold tassel on the curtain cord. “You see, it’s rough out west, and stemware, fluted or otherwise, eventually breaks. And between Indian uprisings, their consequent slaughtering and Mescalero banditos kidnapping and raping of our women, well…,” he paused, his gaze tracking back to hers, “…I’m afraid there’s little time left for dancing.”

  Alma’s breath tripped into a soft gasp as her mouth formed a tight O. Slaughters involved blood. And rape … rape involved … Visions of the horrid brutality smeared the enchanting images of flickering candlelight and the gaiety of dancing couples.

  Painful seconds passed.

  And then, the shadowed hint of a days’ old mustache riding the curve of his upper lip shifted as a smug grin tipped his mouth. “You’re not a whore, a senorita, or a squaw, therefore you have no damn business being in my territory.” He leaned back against the seat and once more pushed his hat over his eyes. His words were barely audible from beneath the brim. “But thanks for the chat. I’ll be going back to sleep now.”