Cowboy of Mine (22 page)

Somehow she smacked into his nose. Hard. She hadn’t hit him straight on, but more at an angle, and his nose snapped.

He roared and lifted his torso away from her, giving her enough time and distance to clamber away while he clutched at his face. She wiggled her way to the end of the car. Finding the ladder, she grabbed hold of one side.

“You bitch!”

Only thinking of getting away, she hefted herself over the edge and fell heavily to the platform below. At first she worried she’d lost her breath, but her lungs took a shaky inhalation. Her back and hip, she’d landed on, throbbed immediately, and she worried she’d broken something, but she struggled to her hands and knees and crawled her way through the train’s door.

“Meredith! Oh my God!”

Meredith looked up in time to see Erva racing toward her. Behind Erva, rushed two waiters and a man dressed in all black, whom Meredith suspected was the train’s security. In a blink, Erva held her close, examining her on the floor.

“Oh my God, you’re hurt. What did he do to you?”

Meredith fought to try to maintain some control and pointed up. “He’s on top of the train.”

The man in all black opened his suit’s coat, revealing a harnessed pistol at his ribs. It reminded her of Jake, and how she longed for him. She’d been so wrong to push him away. If he didn’t want her, that was one thing, but she’d tried to protect herself from future harm, when there was no reason for it. A preemptive attack when there was only peace from Jake.

The man in black flew out to the platform and away from sight, but Meredith heard him climbing the ladder.

“We’ll catch him, brave miss,” the Russian waiter said as he neared with a very young man who nodded his head.

Meredith hissed and drew her face away from Erva who’d been inspecting with her fingers.

“Sorry,” Erva whispered, retracting her hand, holding it in the air. “I was trying to look at the cut in your lips.”

“My lips are cut?” Talking hurt. A lot. Her lips felt too heavy, and where Bruisner had slapped felt fire-poker hot.

Erva nodded. “On the side, between your lips there’s a little cut. Let’s get you inside our sleeper so I can look at you better, help mend these wounds.”

Erva helped Meredith to her unsteady feet. Meredith shook and wobbled, clutching onto Erva with all her might as they walked slowly through the hallways to their sleeper.

“Coyote?” Meredith’s voice cracked with strain and shame.

“Come to the room, sweetie.”

By not answering, Meredith understood that Coyote had probably passed away, while she’d been out trying to hunt down Bruisner like a mad woman. What had she been thinking? She hadn’t obviously. She’d almost gotten herself raped or killed or both. God, she had been stupid, just reacting like that, not thinking through the consequences.

Ah, the story of her life...She knew this song too well, and it nauseated her.

Finally, Erva opened the heavily curtained door to their sleeper. She shuffled Meredith to one of the long benches, then hurried back to the door, ensuring the curtains concealed them, while Meredith searched the room for Coyote, for blood.

“Meredith’s hurt,” Erva said in a hushed tone.

From the storage closet a huge man rushed out. Dark, handsome, raven-black hair hanging down his back. Meredith had seen him before. In her dream. He crouched in front of her, big hands extended out, but never quite touching her.

“Baby girl, what happened?” His voice was whisper soft, but low, rasped with sentiment.

His eyes—oh God—his eyes were warm brown and so familiar.

“What did that asshole do to you?” Now his voice rumbled with anger.

Meredith reached out and gently touched one of his furrowed black brows. It took a few tries, but finally she asked, “Coyote?”

A
loud knock rumbled through the sleeper. Coyote straightened, his fists beside him.

“Miss? It is I, your waiter from before,” the Russian waiter said through the door.

Meredith reached out and touched the warmth of Coyote’s arm, not quite believing it was really him. He turned and looked down at her, his eyes softening.

“It’s all right.” She tried to smile, but, damn, that hurt. Flinching, she held her face with one hand, hating that her eyes were watering.

“May I come in, miss?” The polite and kind waiter asked.

She had to find out his name. Meredith nodded to Erva and Coyote.

He hovered over her, gently wiped a tear before it fell. “Brave, brave girl.” He kissed the top of her head, and before Meredith’s eyes he morphed into the canine she knew, then curled under the bench seat opposite her, effectively hiding from view. And holy crap that was bizarre to see.

He wasn’t hurt, but she had seen on his shirt-less torso a blue-purple bruise where the knife had been inserted. But thank God for...well, gods. Yes, she’d heard of Coyote before, the trickster god. But having met him, known he’d escorted her across a small section of Montana, and had defended her against a creep—okay, her mind was having a hard time with it all and her thoughts became fuzzy.

Erva glanced in Coyote’s direction then opened the door.

Instantly, the kind waiter winced when seeing Meredith, and she tried to cover her cheek. It still felt on fire and must have looked it.

“May I come in?” he asked of Erva, glancing at Meredith too.

Meredith nodded and Erva opened the door wider for him and the teenage fellow accompanying him. The tall waiter stifled in his careful steps and said something in Russian to the boy. The young man nodded once, then wheeled around and flew out of the sleeper.

“I told him to get you some ice and something to relieve your discomfort.” He slowly sat opposite her, his hands had stretched out to her, but now were on his knees, his knuckles turned white. “I’m so sorry he hurt you, miss.”

“Meredith, please call me Meredith.”

“Did you catch him? Catch the man who hurt my friend?” Erva’s voice quaked with rage, the reediness a little eerie sounding.

The waiter shook his head. “No. The lawman found no one on top of the car, but he’s searching the train now.” He glanced back at Meredith. “We’ll find him, miss, er, Miss Meredith. We’ll find him. We won’t rest until we do.”

“Do you think he jumped?” Erva asked, her voice calming a tad.

The waiter shrugged. “It is a possibility. And if he did, I hope he was skinned alive.” He glanced at Meredith. “So sorry to be vulgar, but no one should strike a woman, especially one such as you.”

Meredith didn’t know what exactly that meant, but didn’t want to ask. Soon enough the young waiter returned with ice and some black pills that smelled horrid. Worried about whatever might be in the pills, Meredith discretely put them in her pocket, feeling the cold lines of the pistol there.

What had she been thinking?

For the next twenty minutes the waiters, especially the headwaiter, Nik, catered to her. Erva fluttering around, sometimes sitting close to her, cradling her in her arms like she was child. Meredith hadn’t felt so cared for since...Jake.

Jesus, what had she been thinking?

Nik gave her some vodka, and although she wasn’t a big drinker, the alcohol went down smoothly and settled in her stomach, warming her. Ice helped her face feel better, but she wanted the men to leave, so she could place it on her butt. She’d fallen hard on it and wondered about the size of the bruise. Soon enough the waiters did take their leave, all talking about the search within the train for Bruisner.

Left alone, Erva made sure the curtains to the car’s door was firmly in place. But before she was done, Coyote sprang out—morphing into his human form, wearing just leather leggings and a breach clout—and sat close to Meredith, cuddling her close. He kissed the top of her head again, and after the vodka she was too fatigued to keep her eyes open.

She felt more than anything Coyote scoop her in his strong arms and place her on one of the beds. Calling out for Erva, she smiled as her friend came and whispered away all her fears, caressing her hair, while Coyote stood guard, one eye on her, it seemed, and one eye protectively watching everything else, like Jake. Oh, she had to get him back. She just had to.

Chapter 15

M
r
. Baker, the vice president of the Butte Mining Company, gave a heavy sigh, lifting his rounded stomach and barrel chest. He wasn’t the tallest of men, but at one time had been a muscular bloke. Now, thanks to striking rich with the Butte Mining Company he was fattened up the way men did when life was more satisfying than anything they’d ever imagined. Jake envied him.

They were talking in Mr. Baker’s large study in his mansion of a house. Everything was opulent to the point where it almost hurt the eyes. Even though it was midmorning, all the gas lamps were bright, making Jake want to shield his eyes. Or mayhap the light was so intense because it was the new fangled electric light bulbs.

Jake never wanted lavishness for himself, thinking of how he liked things a wee bit simpler. Mayhap not as modest as Meredith kept her house. Nay, he’d like to shower her with gifts of strong yet comfortable furniture, and a bed that might not squeak so much. Ach, he shouldn’t have let himself think of her. Again.

Jake paid heed to Mr. Baker, trying to shelf his thoughts regarding Meredith. At least for a few seconds. He wasn’t fond of the orange velvet on the chairs, couches, and whatnot, wondering what Meredith might prefer. Yet, Jake didn’t begrudge Mr. Baker for the luxurious house and manner in which the man lived. It was obvious that at one point Mr. Baker had worked very hard, what with all the scars on his roughened hands. But for Jake, if he ever did strike it rich like this, he’d prefer clean things that would make Meredith smile.

He missed her something fierce. What would she be doing at this particular moment? Teaching Dotty and Alex more about the United States’ Constitution? Mayhap she was baking? Perhaps she was lying in her bed, naked, missing him. After that thought, he had to clear his throat and tried to discipline his features to not convey how much he ached for her.

Mr. Baker shook his mighty head. “Figures.”

Jake had just finished telling him about Bruisner insulting Mrs. Casper and suspected of lurking after Meredith. He’d left out the fact that Laura was black and that Meredith had slapped the dickens out of Bruisner. Mr. Baker didn’t need to know that.

Baker drank a little of the fine whisky in a sketched crystal glass. “The man always looked at Caitlyn and my wife in a way I never cared for.”

Almost on cue, Jake heard the squeal of laughter from one of Cat’s charges. He could have guessed she would have been good to the children, but the way they’d raced to her when entering the abode, holding her around her skirt-clad legs, hugging her as tight as they might their own mother, made him realize just how connected she was to Mr. Baker’s children. Oh, the lass had such a hard decision ahead of her.

“Well, Sheriff Cameron, I’ll fire the man as soon as I see him again.”

Jake gave Mr. Baker a curt nod, glancing down to his own glass of whisky balanced on his knee. “I’d appreciate if ye notify me of his whereabouts too.”

Mr. Baker nodded enthusiastically. “Of course. He has a warrant for his arrest, I suppose?”

Since Tom Casper, a civilian, hired Jake, he had no authority here in Silver Bow County, but he nodded all the same.

Narrowing his eyes, Mr. Baker gave him a serious stare. Jake could guess Mr. Baker knew the law well enough to distinguish that Jake didn’t have any authority here. But that wasn’t going to stop him from capturing Bruisner and asking him a few choice questions. Mr. Baker slowly smiled.

“You know, I need a good lawman for the Company. Someone like you—reliable, tenacious,” Mr. Baker took a quick sip of the amber alcohol. “Someone who always gets his man.”

“Thank ye, Mr. Baker, but—”

“Just think about the offer for a spell, son. I haven’t even proposed money yet.”

Jake shrugged. “I like my job in Plateau, sir.”

Mr. Baker slowly nodded, then a screaming bairn about five years of age with fly-away blond hair tore into the room.

“Daddy, Daddy, Daddy, Caitlyn bought me a toy from her vac-vaca-vaca—when she left.”

Mr. Baker’s face cracked into a wide grin as the lad launched himself into his father’s lap, showing off a whittled wooden horse mid-gallop. It was a beautiful sculpture, but Jake knew it wasn’t an item bought for. Cat’s beau had made the horse for her charges.

Cat came rushing into the room, her calico dress rustling slightly. “Timmy, Timothy, I told ye to wait for yer father to be finished with his business—”

“I had to show daddy,” the boy argued. “I had to.”

Cat narrowed her eyes at the lad, but his gaze bounced to Jake. Those giant blue eyes widened.

“You’re the lawman that helped Miss O’Neil with the door.”

Jake gave him a nod, trying to cover his smile at the lad’s audacity and free spirit.

He wiggled free from his father’s grasp and came to stand mayhap a foot away from Jake. The child inspected his face, the way they do. And Jake worried that the boy would recoil in shock from his scars. But the lad stood still.

“You’re rough looking.”

Both Cat and Mr. Baker protested with some kind of comment, but Jake merely nodded.

“I’m going to be a rough lawman when I grow up.”

“Are ye now?” Jake finally cracked a smile.

The child nodded, his fine hair waving after his head. “You bet.”

Jake laughed softly.

Cat finally captured her charge by scooping him up in her arms and tickling him. “A lawman, ye say? A lawman? Why ye’d have to obey the law first to become a lawman, and ye have trouble enough followin’ my orders.”

The lad giggled and squealed in delight as Cat walked out of the room. It was heaven to hear a child laugh like that, and until Jake had met Meredith he’d never thought of having bairns of his own. It cracked his chest, that thought. Lord, he had to figure out a way to talk to his woman.

“I would say I’m sorry for the outburst, Sheriff Cameron, but my son might do it again.”

Jake laughed, glancing back at Mr. Baker.

The round man ran a hand along his thick dark sideburns. “As soon as I hear news of Bruisner, I’ll let you know. Where are you staying?”

Jake inhaled. “I hadn’t thought that far in advance, sir. I’ll probably find—”

“The Grand Pintlar Hotel has many vacancies. I should know. I own it. Please stay as my guest.”

“Oh, sir—”

“Think about my offer, Cameron. I need a good lawman. And...” Mr. Baker glanced at the now closed door where the children were laughing loudly at something Cat had said. “And if you agreed, you could be close to Miss O’Neil.”

Jake stiffened. He could have guessed Mr. Baker would think he had an interest in Cat. But on the train they’d commiserated their lovesick stories. She had answered an ad for Mr. Baker’s governess position and had traveled all the way from Boston for the job, only to be robbed by highwaymen in the last five miles close to Butte. However, she’d been rescued by a band of Blackfoot warriors. When Cat told the story, she lit up, talking about fate, wondering if there was such a thing to have met those warriors the way she did. Instantly, she had fallen for one of them. Jake had confessed his own sudden emotions regarding Meredith.

But Cat...the nineteenth century was nothing like the seventeenth. Back then many colonies were dependent on the different Indians. There was a, albeit tense, synergy between colonists and the Native Americans. Now, there were military men writing broadbands in favor of extinction. He’d seen it with his own eyes.

Jake hadn’t said anything about living two hundred years ago, but had confessed to living with a tribe in South Carolina, of finding a sanctuary amongst the Yamasee. But as much as Jake encouraged Cat, he knew times were different. Her choices were few: live with the love of her life, giving up the children she loved and all she knew. Or giving up love.

Jake had tried to console her, patting her hand, telling her love would find a way. But he wasn’t sure if he believed it anymore. If ever. This was a senseless time, so full of hatred. And Meredith had told him to never see her again. There, in a room full of orange velvet and over-bright chandeliers and whisky that people called scotch, he finally acknowledged his truly broken heart.

Mayhap a job working for a mining company wouldn’t be so bad? Mayhap Mr. Baker was actually a kind man? One who wouldn’t order him to kill innocent people.

“Thank ye for the offer, Mr. Baker. I recon I will stay at yer hotel, but I’m goin’ to pay for my room.”

Mr. Baker smiled widely. “I like a man who insists he pays his way. Very well then.” He stood, placing his empty glass on a nearby polished-until-it-shined-like-a-new-penny table, then extended his hand. “As soon as I hear word of Bruisner, I’ll contact you at the hotel. How long will you be staying?”

Jake felt so tired suddenly. His bones ached from missing Meredith and the hopelessness that now accompanied thoughts of her.

“Two days, mayhap more.” Jake shook Mr. Baker’s calloused hand.

“Good. Good.” Mr. Baker grinned up at him. “Perhaps I can talk you into a job in that time?”

Jake nodded. “Perhaps.”