A Cowboy Unmatched (8 page)

She craned her neck to peer up at Neill. He was facing forward, his wide shoulders and broad back exuding strength as he somehow managed to keep the two mismatched horses to a steady gait. Mo towered over her little gray mare, but the two seemed to have settled into a rhythm.

Clara's gaze darted to her trunk, curiosity compelling her forward. Was her fleece wet or dry? Biting her lip, she cast one last glance at Neill, then quietly levered herself to a sitting position and began working furiously at the trunk straps. Once they were loose, she opened the lid and dug her hand down past the petticoats and nightdresses until her fingers stroked a neatly folded fabric edge. Her heart did a little flip as she latched onto the piece and tugged it upward. Embroidered flowers of blue and yellow danced across white cotton. Her eyes misted as her lips curled upward.

He'd kept her linens.

 
 Chapter 10 
 

Neill ran a weary hand over his face as the train rattled along the tracks. Whiskers scratched his palm. His lids closed over eyes that burned from a combination of too much soot and too little sleep. They'd been on this train for the better portion of two days. Two days of hard wooden seats, stale air, and noise that never seemed to end.

He hadn't been able to afford passage in a sleeping car, as much as he wished he could give Clara that luxury. Still, she never complained. She leaned against the window using his coat as a pillow and slept as much as she could manage. When darkness fell and the cabin grew chilled, however, Neill gathered her into his arms and urged her to rest against him, where it was warmer. He tended Harrison while she slept, and when she awoke and took over, he grabbed what rest he could, knowing he'd need all his wits in the coming hours.

Mack was on their trail.

He'd said nothing to Clara. She already looked behind her enough as it was. She didn't need more worry heaped on her shoulders. He'd tell her when the need arose, but until then, he'd carry the burden on his own.

He'd spotted Mack Danvers in Amarillo. And worse, Mack had spotted him. Clara, thank God, had already been onboard the train with Harrison. Neill had been seeing to the trunk when he heard a shout from down the street. Mack Danvers stood in front of the livery, kicking up a fuss and gesturing wildly at the gray mare and worn buckboard the owner had just purchased. From Neill.

Clara had insisted he sell the wagon and gray mare, not knowing when or if they'd return. She'd encouraged him to use the funds to purchase their tickets, but when she wasn't looking, he'd slipped the money into her handbag. Should she decide not to marry him, he wanted to make sure she had a bit of money to make her own way. But with Mack so close, he wished he'd just turned the old mare out to pasture somewhere outside of town. Somewhere void of people so no one could give out his description or point Mack in the direction of the train station. He'd been careful not to mention their travel plans, but when a stranger wandering through sells his horse and wagon in a railroad town, there was only one logical conclusion to make.

He'd hurried onto the train after that and whispered a prayer of thanksgiving when the final whistle blew. The train started its slow chug out of the station as Neill made his way to his seat. But halfway down the aisle, he spotted a man on horseback racing to catch the train. Neill bent low to peer out the window, his gut telling him the man's identity before his eyes confirmed it.

Mack
.

The horse came alongside the car, and Mack's gaze bored into his. There was too much noise to hear what he yelled, but Neill had no trouble reading Clara's name on Mack's lips or the threat raging across his features.

Mack Danvers hadn't been able to pull them from the train, but Neill knew the man wouldn't be far behind. There was another departure on the Amarillo schedule, slated for the afternoon. He and Clara had a few hours' cushion at best.

Pulling his thoughts back to the present, Neill peered over Clara's head to the window, his bleary eyes drinking in the sight of pine trees zipping past. Home wasn't far now.

“Have a biscuit, Neill. It's a little stale but still filling.” Clara held the golden roll out to him with a tired smile.

He glanced down at the burlap sack in her lap. The thing was pitifully flat. He shook his head. “You take it. You and Harrison need it more than I do.”

“I ate while you were resting,” she said. “Please, Neill. You've barely slept and hardly eaten. I promise I won't waste away if you have the last biscuit.”

Neill exhaled a heavy sigh at the same time his stomach let out a lusty growl. Clara's eyes widened, her mouth twitching suspiciously. Suddenly they both erupted in quiet laughter.

“Give me that thing,” Neill groused between chuckles. He took it from her hand and bit into it with comical relish. Clara grinned at him with such affection that it was all Neill could do to swallow the biscuit bite without choking as a new hunger emerged. Only their lack of privacy kept him from leaning forward to taste her lips.

Clara must have sensed the change in him, for she quickly glanced away, a touch of pink coloring her cheeks. She set the empty sack aside and lifted a fussing Harrison from his crate at her feet to her shoulder.

Neill ate the rest of his biscuit in silence.

“Do you think Mack will follow us?” Clara finally ventured.

He nodded, knowing the time had come for candidness. “Yep. I spotted him in Amarillo before we left. A few well-worded questions around the depot would let him know our destination. He's probably just a few hours behind us.”

Clara worried her bottom lip with her teeth and lifted her hand to shelter Harrison's head, tucking the babe close to her neck. “Is there a chance he could catch us before we get to your brother's ranch? He'll be able to travel much faster as a single rider than we will in a wagon.”

Neill wrapped his arm around Clara's shoulder and drew her into his side. He pressed a chaste kiss to her forehead and held her tight. “I wired Travis before we left Amarillo yesterday. He'll be expecting us. And the trouble on our tail. We'll have reinforcements.”

As long as the telegraph had been delivered.

Neill kept that worry to himself. Oftentimes the telegraph office in Palestine held on to messages for those who lived on outlying ranches and farms. They didn't have the manpower to deliver messages out of town. He'd used the word
Urgent
at the beginning of his message, hoping that would spur the telegrapher to hire someone to deliver it immediately, but he couldn't be sure it had.

If Jim happened to be in town, they would no doubt deliver the message to him, but Neill had been gone so long, he had no idea what Jim's schedule was anymore. He used to make regular town visits to oversee his carpentry shop and to let his wife, Cassie, visit with her folks, but he much preferred the solitude of their homestead near the Archer ranch, and spent most of his time there.

“I'll take care of you, Clara,” Neill vowed. “Mack will never get his hands on Harrison as long as I have breath in my body.”

She turned her face so far into his chest that he nearly missed her whispered words. “That's what I'm afraid of.”

Neill's heart slammed against his rib cage as the rest of his body grew unnaturally still. Had she meant that the way it sounded? Could she actually be coming to care for him more as a man than a protector?

He prayed it was so. Because it'd tear his heart out if he ever had to let her go.

When they finally disembarked from the train late that afternoon, Clara worried that her legs would collapse beneath her. Neill's strong grasp at her elbow kept her upright, but she couldn't quite contain her sigh of gratitude when he guided her to an empty bench on the depot platform and directed her to sit while he fetched his horse from the stock car.

She glanced around the busy station as she straightened Harrison's blanket around his neck and head. Passengers mingled with friends and family, businessmen collected shipments, porters carted trunks and luggage. She scanned every face that came within view, ever diligent in case Mack should appear. Yet more than fear drove her to attend to the details around her. This was Neill's home. He could probably greet many of these people by name. His history lay here, and at his brother's ranch. That in itself made the place fascinating. It was part of the man she was coming to love.

Clara spotted Neill crossing the platform, his long strides propelling him quickly through the milling crowd. “Mo's unloaded,” he said when he reached her. “One of the stable boys will bring him around for us. I'll need to ride over to the livery to hire a wagon, so I thought it'd be better for you to be inside. I should only be gone a few minutes, but I don't like you out here on your own. Once the crowd disperses you'll be too visible.”

She nodded and reached for the hand he offered her, but a low voice boomed across the platform, freezing her in place.

“Neill!” A monster of a man barreled his way toward them. Clara instinctively clutched Harrison tighter to her chest in an effort to shield him from whatever danger this man presented, but then she caught sight of the enormous grin spreading across Neill's face.

“Jim! Am I ever happy to see you.” He held out his hand to the man only to be yanked into a bear of a hug.

“You been gone too long, kid,” the other man groused, not more than a hint of a smile warming his countenance, yet the affection between the two was undeniable. Jim stepped out of the embrace after a moment and regarded her with stoic eyes, his gaze traveling from her to the bundle she held. One brow lifted in question. “This the trouble you wired us about?”

Heat flamed in Clara's cheeks.

Neill frowned. “Watch it, Jim.” His growled warning drew another raised brow from the large man.

“Clara Danvers,” Neill said, taking her hand and helping her to her feet before wrapping a decidedly possessive arm about her shoulders, “this mannerless brute is my brother Jim.” Neill gave her a squeeze, probably to help shore up her courage. She found her chin ratcheting a few degrees higher in response, and she could have sworn she saw the barest flash of a twinkle in Jim's eyes.

Heavens, she really must be tired. Now she was seeing things.

“The trouble is on our trail,” Neill explained in a voice low enough not to carry to any passersby. “I'm not sure how far back. Clara's father-in-law wants to confiscate her babe so he can raise the boy as his own without her interference. Her husband is dead, and his father insists she give up all claim to the child, which, of course, she's not willing to do. I offered her protection and figured the ranch was the best place to make a stand.”

“You figured right.” Only three words, but they carried a simple acceptance that had Clara's spirit soaring with gratitude and relief. Maybe the man wasn't as hard as he appeared.

Jim grabbed her small trunk and started walking toward the edge of the platform. “Come on. I've got a wagon waiting.”

Neill gathered Harrison's empty sleeping crate, then steered her into his brother's wake. “How'd you know which train to meet?”

Jim never broke stride. “Didn't,” he called over his shoulder. “This is my third train today.”

Clara stared after the man, amazed at the matter-of-fact statement and all it conveyed. The Archers were a dedicated, loyal bunch, it seemed. Neill had told her as much, yet she never imagined such loyalty would be extended to her after such a short association. Yet Jim hadn't argued with his brother for even a moment or complained about him bringing trouble to their door. He'd just picked up her trunk and marched on as if the slapdash explanation Neill had offered was good enough for him.

When they reached the wagon, she noticed a tall black man tying Mo's lead line to the rear of the bed. He glanced up at their approach and beamed a smile at Neill. Clara felt a new energy surge through Neill's arm in response.