“I don’t know your name.”
“That’swhat’s making you hesitate?”
Rather lamely, she said, “It seems as if it might be important.”
“I am going to point out that you left the train with a man you still call Mr. Shoulders. Did you ask him his name?”
“I did. He wouldn’t tell me.”
“Huh.”
Phoebe had rarely heard sarcasm delivered so succinctly. His tone was so dry it was a wonder it didn’t scratch his throat. She lifted her chin a fraction and squared her shoulders. “I’m sure he thought I was foolish to ask.”
“He had just robbed a train and abducted you. Yes, I can see that.”
“You think this amusing, don’t you? Well, it’s not.” Moonlight made it easy for her to see him raise his hands, palms out. What she did not know was if he was surrendering, communicating his innocence, or anticipating that he would need to ward her off. “How do I know you are not one of them?”
He lowered the hand holding the reins and lifted the other one to the back of his head. He massaged a spot behind his ear. “Thought for sure my headache was going away, but damn if you haven’t nudged it awake.” He clicked his tongue, gave Bullet a firm kick, and lightly snapped the reins. “As much as I’m looking forward to hearing you explain that, it’s going to have to happen while we’re on the move. Seems like asking you if you were ready was more in the way of a rhetorical question.”
Chapter Five
They rode in silence for miles, which suited Remington. He wasn’t certain that it suited Phoebe Apple, although whenever he glanced in her direction to assure himself she was still in the saddle, it seemed to him that her expression was more thoughtful than brooding. He favored that. He’d had his fill of sulky women.
“I believe I owe you an apology.”
Remington gave a small start as much from the sudden sound of her voice as from what she’d said. “You don’t owe me anything.”
“I think I do. Clearly you took offense to my question and it’s put you in a mood.”
“I don’t even remember your question.”
“Liar,” she said stoutly. “I asked if you were one of them. One of the gang. You heard that as an insult, and upon reflection, I do not blame you for brooding about it.”
“Brooding?”
“Sulking, then.”
“Now I’m insulted,” he said dryly.
“No. You’re not. You’re amused. I can tell. It’s all right. I prefer it to petulance.”
“Petulance,” he repeated, giving the word weight and consideration. He turned to look at her. “Do you really think I petulate?”
“Fool. That’s not a word.”
“If I’m doing it, it should be.” He saw her mouth flatten but decided it was more in aid of checking her ownamusement than demonstrating disapproval. “Go on, then. Apologize.”
She blinked. “I thought I did.”
“No. You said you owed me an apology and told me why. I’m waiting to hear something like, ‘I’m sorry.’ Or, ‘Please, forgive me.’ Either is acceptable.”
“I amnotasking for your forgiveness.”
“Then it will have to be the other.”
“Very well, I am sorry.”
“And I forgive you.” He thought she might have growled in frustration. Whether she did or didn’t hardly mattered. He was prepared to give sound to the chuckle rising in his throat until he looked sideways at her. What he saw made him swallow his amusement.
