widened in horror as she realized that she hadn’t shot the bedpost as she had supposed, but had nicked the upper corner of his sleeve.
Her stomach churned sickeningly as she waited for the blood to flow, but as Gabriel pulled the fabric aside to examine his arm, it was clear that the bullet had miraculously left him unharmed.
She was shaking so badly now that she nearly dropped the gun altogether. But when Cutter gazed up at her, his gaze dark and speculative, she knew that he hadn’t known her aim was off.
“Next time I’ll draw blood,” she said, mustering all of the bravado she could. “We’re going West with you, Mr. Cutter,” she insisted.
“Not without a male escort.”
The man was infuriating, positively infuriating!
Phoebe was about to argue with him further when she had a sudden thought.
A male.
Any male? Any male at all?
Her eyes narrowed. “What if we can find a male escort who is willing to accompany us tomorrow?”
He snorted in a way that made it clear he thought such an event unlikely. “If you can find a man to traipse halfway across the country with a passel of giggling mail-order brides before nine tomorrow morning, then you’re welcome to join us.”
Her heart pounded in her chest—this time with excitement. “I have your word on that?”
“You have my word.”
“Do I need your promise in writing, Mr. Cutter?”
A little muscle at the side of his jaw flickered. “My word is binding, Miss Gray.”
“Good.”
Without further explanation, she tugged at the strings of her reticule and dropped the revolver inside.
“I’m sure you have other guns, Mr. Cutter. As for this one, I intend to keep it until the end of our journey, to remind you that we aren’t nearly as helpless as you think.”
And with that parting shot, she whirled and marched out of the room, not stopping until she was once again in the hot afternoon sunshine. She had the matter of an escort to arrange.
By this time tomorrow, she would be on her way West.
Hurrying away from the Golden Arms as quickly as her feet would take her, Phoebe found the other brides waiting for her at the park. Judging by their hangdog expressions, it was clear they had prepared themselves for bad news.
“Well?” Mable breathed when Phoebe was nearly upon them.
“He’ll let us go if we supply a male escort.”
The women visibly wilted in disappointment.
“Then we’re in the same pickle we were in a few minutes ago,” Betty mourned.
Phoebe couldn’t prevent the smile that tugged at her lips. “Not quite. I think I know where we can find the perfect candidate.”
The women looked doubtful.
“Where?” Edith finally asked.
“Prison.”
Twila gasped.
The others looked horrified.
“I don’t think we can break a man out of prison just to accompany us West,” Betty said, blinking in confusion.
Phoebe smiled. “We won’t have to stage an escape, you little goose. We just have to gather together a few coins to pay for the man’s passage from England.”
“Won’t Mr. Cutter object to a former prisoner serving as our escort?”
“I have his word that he will allow us to join the company as long as we have a male in tow—any male.” She patted her reticule. “I, for one, intend to see to it that he honors his word.”
Needing action to take his mind off Louisa—not, not Louisa, Phoebe Gray—Gabe returned to the makeshift office he’d made of his hotel room. Despite its tawdry reputation, the Golden Arms had large rooms, the modern amenities and enough privacy to let him get his job done.
Slamming the door behind him, he instinctively squelched his reaction to the memory of Phoebe and leaned over a table spread with maps. But he couldn’t focus.
How long had it been since he’d felt anything in the company of a woman? It had been years since the death of his beloved wife, Emily.
Not that he hadn’t tried to experience even the faintest stir of emotions. Knowing that he wasn’t the kind of man to “taint” a Sunday school teacher or a minister’s daughter, he’d found himself at the Golden Arms more times than he could count. But he’d found soon enough that he couldn’t will his body to respond. Emily’s death had been a blow to him, emotionally and spiritually. All of his tender emotions and sensual instincts had died the moment he’d found the body of his wife and small son in the orchard behind their house.
From that day to the present, Gabe had lived a life of torment. Plunged into an abyss of grief, he had not rejoined his unit for more than six months after his family’s deaths. His actions had branded him “yellow” and “untrustworthy” to his fellow officers, but he hadn’t cared. Once he’d returned to battle, he’d lived each succeeding day on the brink of disaster, purposely volunteering for one dangerous assignment after another. But the Fates had not granted his death wish.
In an effort to exorcise his memories, he’d drowned himself in his work as a Pinkerton. But never in all that time had his heart pounded with anything akin to real emotion.
Until now. In a single confrontation with a hellcat woman intent on journeying cross-country with a passel of mail-order brides, the tender scars on his heart had been torn wide open.
Growling in self-disgust, Gabe vowed that he would not betray Emily’s memory by becoming involved with another woman. He owed his late wife that much, at least.
And he couldn’t afford to drop his guard for a beautiful woman. Especially one who was now using a different name. He’d have to ask one of his men to watch the boardinghouse and follow her if she left the establishment.
Forcing himself to concentrate, Gabe traced his planned route West on the map. Unbeknownst to the passengers, the excursion was not all it appeared to be. Gabe had been hired to organize a group of men to escort a clandestine payroll shipment destined for the western offices of the Overland Express Railroad. The shipment would be made under the watchful eye of Victor Elliot, a high-ranking employee for the railroad.
The addition of Elliot to Gabe’s team still rankled. The arrival of an Overland Express representative was an open slur against Gabe’s trustworthiness, but he hadn’t bothered to argue. Gabe knew he wouldn’t have been offered the prestigious job at all if Josiah Burton hadn’t been an old friend. The assignment was a chance for Gabe to make a name for himself as something other than a deserter. Cracking the case would mean national news exposure.
But if anything happened to the shipment, Gabe also knew that he would be held personally accountable.
The door to his room opened and Gabe peered up at the portly shape outlined by the afternoon sun streaming into the corridor.
Victor Elliot.
Gabe scowled. Although he understood the concerns of Overland Express and their wish to have a member of the company on the railway journey, that didn’t mean that Gabe had to like the man.
“The shipment is safely stowed away until it can be loaded onto the train?” Elliot inquired.
Gabe nodded and returned his attention to the maps. Although he’d memorized the route, he traced the lines again and again as if he could imprint the contours of the land on his brain.
“I’ve got a concern about the men who accompanied the gold from England,” Victor continued, with open irritation at Gabe’s