In the inbetween, he’dwatch Miss Hope McElroy and count it time well spent.
Hands balled in her lap,she had her cheek turned to him as she stared out the window. Thelight from the outside softened the lines of her face, turning herprofile into curves and shadow. Her colourless hair was again underruthless control, scraped into a bun gathered low at her neck. Inthis light, he could see the silvery track of a scar beginningunder her ear and running beneath the high neck of hergown.
A frown troubled hisbrow. It looked like the mark of a knife to his eyes. How had sheoccasion to gain the mark of a knife upon her? What had occurred inher presumably sheltered and indulgent life to warrant such? Thatthere mark had the air of badness and evil men, and it was true shesought a bad-wicked man in the shape of Callihan. Perhaps her lifehadn’t always been as lavish and indulgent as he supposed, but itweren’t going to get him paid any quicker if that were true and itweren’t none of his business besides.
That morning, she’dwaited on the sidewalk before the boarding house in the travellingdress she now wore. He’d slowed his gait, somewhat stymied she’dbeen true to her word. She hadn’t noticed him immediately, givinghim time to observe her, as he did now. She’d brought littleluggage, her belongings packed in a trunk and a carpetbag, and shetravelled without a servant, although her dress, just like thefirst, declared she could afford one. But then, he’d had only hissaddlebags and Jack, though he supposed his horse did account formore baggage than any body could claim.
The train had arrived asit did every day at nine of the a.m. and they’d boarded with theother passengers. Miss Hope McElroy’s wealth meant they had a carto themselves and a porter besides, the man fairly falling overhimself to be all sorts of useful. Already he’d been by twice, bothtimes enquiring as to whether they wanted refreshments brought tothem, or if they thought a turn about the cars to stretch theirlegs might be of benefit. Jake had left the responding to MissMcElroy, and she’d done so in a cool, calm voice, her gaze neverleaving the porter.
Jake’s own gaze strayedagain to the scar. He’d warrant she covered it with scarves andhigh necklines and such, but it still remained. The scar wasjagged, as if pieced back together in fits and starts, and itlooked to have been deep enough to near kill her. It had the lookof an old injury, maybe even one before she was fully grown. Lordknew he boasted similar old scars about his person.
He shifted his weight.They couldn’t spend the entirety of their journey in silence, nomatter it was a state for which he usually had a preference. “Sowhere are you from?”
Not a flicker of responseover those pale features. “West.”
His lips twitched. Thatanswer couldn’t be any shorter. And he’d been wrong in hissupposing, thinking she’d hale from Boston or even New York.“Anywhere in particular in the west?”
“California.”
“Well, thatnarrows it down some, darlin’, but still there’s a whole state topin down a particular locale. Sacramento? SanFrancisco?”
Her lips tightened. “Whatconcern is it of yours?”
Drawing up his leg, herested his ankle on his knee. “None, darlin’. Just aiming to passthe time with conversation and pleasant company.”
Her gaze flicked to histhigh. Concealing a smile, he rested his hand against the appendageshe found so fascinating. He knew what women thought of him and itwere a blessing to know she were no different.
Raising her gaze to his,she said, “My uncle’s home is in Sacramento.”
She had a freckle underher right eye, faint but there. He found himself wondering how thatsingular freckle came to be, how that small amount of pigmentdefied such pale skin. “Your uncle’s home?”
“I supposeit’s mine now.” She regarded somewhere left of his shoulder. “Itmay be that I will sell it.”
His chest felt tight.Fingers twitched, but he refused to rub his affliction, and evenmore refused to think the strength of her gaze was the cause of thetightness. “And the rest of your people?”
Her gaze snapped again tohis. Breath strangled again in his chest. “My people?”
“Youmentioned your uncle. You had parents? An aunt? Siblings of akind?”
Turning her head, sheagain regarded the window. “I have no people.”
Her tone was flat, asemotionless as a body could make it, and her cheek turned to himpresented again the scar running from her ear to disappear in hergown. Why did he feel that was part of the same tale? And if itdid, what kind of hell had she been through? “I’m mighty sorry forthat. I have no people of my own, least ways none I care toremember. I don’t have a fancy house to sell, though.”
She made noreply.
“What is ityou do to pass time in Sacramento, Miss McElroy?”
Nothing.
“I wouldwager there would be some sort of society, and charitable notionsas well. Was your uncle in a trade? Did he strike it rich on thegold fields? You can buy an awful lot of gunslingers with a thickenough vein.” He smiled, as charming as he could make it, and heknew some afforded that to be a particular brand ofcharming.
Her jaw clenched, yetstill she remained silent.
“Alright,then.” He weren’t one to press where he weren’t wanted, even if itdid give him a perverse kind of amusement to force a reaction fromher, slight as it might be. Leaning his head against the paddedseat, he pulled his hat low and settled himself tocomfort.
Silence grew betweenthem, broken only the clack of the train. She shifted on her seat,the rustle of her gown suggesting she’d turned to face him. Hecould almost feel her gaze upon him, but it were a long momentafore she finally spoke. “Why are we going to Cheyenne?”
He tilted his hat up.“Hmm? What’s that, darlin’?”
