Disguised for Revenge (Preview)

Chapter One

April 1878

Bitter Creek, Utah

Pearl Marlowe pressed her hands to her ears, but it wasn’t enough to keep out the crack of gunfire above her. Nor did it suppress the screams. She huddled into the dirt wall of the root cellar, wishing she could soak right into it and leave the dark, cramped space. 

Heavy footsteps sounded directly overhead, and the shadow of their owner showed through the tiny cracks between the floorboards. “Get upstairs, too. We have to be thorough!”

A sob rose as a hard lump in her throat. She squeezed her eyes shut. Her body shook, demanding her to run but terrified to do so. And where would she go? Who could she go to? Dust rained down on her head, but she was far past the point of caring about it. 

“Found this one upstairs,” a gruff voice said. There were a series of thuds, as though someone had been thrown against the floor.

“Wyatt, you bastard!” a woman’s voice cried out.

No! Not her mother, too! Wasn’t it enough that the masked men had slaughtered all the ranch hands on their way in? Pearl had seen them come rushing out of the barns and the fields when they heard the shots. They’d raised their own weapons in defense of the Marlowe Ranch, and some of them had even raised their bare hands. 

Pearl hadn’t entirely understood what was happening. She’d only known that it was a raid, that masked men had come to rob them. And so she’d done exactly as her father had always told her to do. She’d always promised that she would, but Pearl had never imagined that she’d actually need to use the secret trapdoor in the pantry that led down to the root cellar. And yet there she was, desperately wishing she could cry out for help. Even if she could, nobody would come. 

“What’s the matter, Leonora?” Uncle Wyatt growled. There was another sound, and her mother groaned. “You’re still fighting so hard to protect this ranch? Haven’t you figured out yet that it belongs to me now? That it’s over?”

“You’re nothing but a lying, jealous bastard,” Leonora spat. “Don’t act so high and mighty. I know what you’ve been doing here. I’ve seen it with my own eyes, and I’ll make sure everyone knows.”

Uncle Wyatt’s laugh was cruel and cold. He wasn’t the man who’d come to visit all the time, bringing gifts and sipping whiskey with her father until late into the night. He wasn’t the uncle who was always working to better himself, always making some business deal or another. Handshake contracts, he’d call them. 

“Then I’ll just have to make sure you can’t, won’t I?” Wyatt snarled. Two more shots rang out. 

A fragment of a bullet came through the floor, pinging the ground not far from Pearl’s feet and sending a cloud of dirt into the air. She pressed her hand over her mouth, shoving down the scream that demanded to be released. How could he do such a thing? How could it be happening? Tears ran down her cheeks and over the backs of her hands. Pearl closed her eyes as tightly as she could, crushing her eyelids into themselves. Her body convulsed as her stomach threatened to return the peaceful supper she’d eaten with her parents only an hour ago.

“I think that’s everyone, boss,” a rough voice said. 

“Torch it,” Wyatt commanded. There was no sentiment in his voice for the home where he’d grown up, the ranch that his parents had worked so hard to build. “Just this end, just enough that nobody can tell what happened. I’ll rebuild it.”

“The barns?” 

“No. I need those.” Wyatt’s heavy footsteps slowly walked away, toward the front door. “It’s good to be home!” He laughed again as the door creaked open.

Finally, Pearl’s body could handle no more. She fell forward onto her hands and knees and retched. She gagged and hacked until there was nothing left. When she swiped her hand across her face, it came away covered in blood in the dim light that shone through the floorboards. Pearl stared at the dark, sticky blood in confusion, certain that she was going to die and even welcoming it at that moment. Then she realized that the blood was from her hand and not her mouth. She’d sliced it open while trying to get to the trapdoor.

She fell to her side, lying in the dirt and unable to move. Her own uncle had killed everyone on the ranch. He’d have killed her, if he’d had the chance. It was true, but it was impossible to believe.

A crackling sound caught her attention, and Pearl realized the whole place was filling with smoke. It was even seeping down between the floorboards and into her hiding spot. She was going to die.

She was going to die.

Go straight down this tunnel. When you hit a wall, you just have to go up.

Her father’s voice whispered to her from beyond the grave. Pearl had always thought he was silly when he talked about Comanche raids and how it was better to be safe than sorry. He’d been wrong about the Comanches, but not about a raid.

Go, the voice said urgently. You’ll be safe.

Pearl wasn’t even sure she wanted to be safe. What kind of world would she live in without her parents? Her mind refused to make sense of the chaos all around her. She didn’t want it to be true! But neither did she truly want to die. 

She forced herself onto her hands and knees again. Her stomach lurched, and she pressed her tongue against the top of her mouth to keep from gagging. Pearl crawled to the other side of the root cellar, moving past the bins of potatoes, carrots, and onions. It was dark in the back corner of the little space, but she groped around with her hands until she found the crude door. The rough lumber sliced her skin with splinters as she pawed around the edges, trying to remember how to get it open. Pearl shoved her fingers all around it, breaking a few nails in the process. 

Finally, it slid to the side. Pearl stared at the dark, gaping maw of the tunnel before her. She didn’t want to die, but that emptiness made her feel as though she’d be crawling straight into death itself. 

Her lungs began to burn, reminding her just how little time she had left. She was starting to sweat, something that shouldn’t happen in the coolness of the cellar. It was the fire. Wyatt and his masked men hadn’t gotten her, but the fire would. Pearl plunged into the darkness. 

A spiderweb swept across her face, the fine fibers stretching and pulling as she wiped them away. Her palm burned and ached as dirt ground into the wound. Her whole body ached, and her heart had been shattered into a million pieces. The only comfort was the air in the tunnel. It was stale, but it was cool and free of smoke. She sucked it in, as she pushed herself to keep going. 

The tunnel stretched on forever. Pearl craned her head around, trying to look behind her, but the movement made the space behind her eyes ache. She couldn’t see anything, anyway. She was surrounded by darkness. The dirt walls were getting closer. Her breath grew shallow in her lungs. 

Pearl forced herself forward. Her knee crunched down hard on something. Instinctively, she reached down for it. Her fingers skimmed over the smooth, round surface on one side and the intricately detailed ridges on the other. It was a skull, a tiny skull from a rat or some other pitiful creature that’d gotten stuck in the tunnel. She envisioned her own skeleton down there, curled up in the tunnel, with a rat’s skull still clutched in her bony fingers.

No. Something deep inside her drove her forward with a new will to live, a determination not to let that happen. She pressed on and on, but with no light it was impossible to tell how much progress she was making.

Finally, her head bumped into a wall. Pearl groped around her, looking for some bend in the tunnel. There was nothing. She’d reached a dead end.

Or perhaps she’d reached the end. Slowly, Pearl reached up over her head. Where the top of the tunnel should’ve been, she found only empty space. She leaned on the wall in front of her as she stood up, ramming her head against another rough-hewn door that matched the one back in the root cellar. 

Her heart hammered as she clawed and scraped against it, pushing and shoving. The door lifted slightly, but it fell right back into place. A new wave of tears rushed from her eyes. She couldn’t have come so far only to get stuck! Her fear turned to anger as she shoved once again. The door lifted, and she pushed harder. It was heavy, far heavier than it ought to be, and for a moment she wondered if someone was holding it closed. 

Pearl summoned every ounce of strength she had left and shoved. The door rose up and fell to the side with a clatter. Thankfully, the tunnel was close to the surface there and she was only waist-deep in the ground. Pearl hauled herself up onto the grass and lay gasping up at the stars, which looked as brilliant as fire after the darkness of the tunnel. 

Something large loomed next to her, blocking out a rectangle of the stars. It was the smokehouse; she could smell it. The tunnel had spit her out exactly where her father had said it would, and she took a moment to revel in the relief of that truth.

But she wasn’t safe. No place on the ranch was safe right now. Pearl scrambled to her feet and peeked around the smokehouse. There was her childhood home, going up in flames. A tall silhouette stood before it, his hands in his trouser pockets as he watched the fire lick hungrily at the farmhouse. Uncle Wyatt.

She curled her fingers around the wood of the smokehouse as raw fury flooded her bloodstream. How could he do such a terrible thing? She thought about running up behind him and demanding to know the truth. He would only kill her, and that deep something inside her still urged her to live. 

Pearl turned and ran for the woods. Her feet pounded the ground. She listened for anyone who might’ve seen her, anyone who might pursue her and make sure that the last Marlowe other than Wyatt wouldn’t be around to tell the sheriff what’d really happened there. But she only heard her feet and her heart, pounding desperately in unison. 

She’d made it through the tunnel and away from the ranch, but what now? The plan had always been to run to Uncle Wyatt’s place, but that was clearly no longer an option. He’d already killed her parents, and he wouldn’t allow her to live. She had to get away, but where? How? 

The sheriff. She had to get to the sheriff and tell him what’d happened. Pearl pushed on, knowing the path would lead her to Bitter Creek. The town was miles away. There’d be no saving her home, but her mind had grabbed hold of the idea and pushed her on.

Eventually, when she could hardly feel her feet and her bloody hand had completely crusted over, dawn began to pierce the darkness. It began as the barest line of light on the horizon like a glimmer of hope, growing stronger as the trees began to thin. She was nearly there. Pearl could see the pale line of the road into town up ahead. Just a couple more miles. She just had to keep going.

She emerged from the trees, carefully looking down the road before she considered stepping onto it. Where had Wyatt gone after he’d destroyed the ranch? And what about those masked men?

Then her eyes fell to a dark shape on the side of the road. Her heart clenched. It was a man. He lay face down with his arms flung out in front of him. His hat had flown off and lay nearby. She recognized that hat.

“Samuel?” she whispered as she crept closer, though she already knew he wouldn’t respond. “Samuel, is that you?”

She touched his shoulder. It was stiff and cold. The growing dawn light showed her the hole in the back of his coat. 

Pearl reeled back, falling on her backside against the slope of the ditch as she stared at the dead body and shivered. Samuel Farris was one of her father’s most trusted hands. What was he doing there, so close to town? Her father must’ve sensed danger and sent him for help. Wyatt’s men had found him first, and the only thing he’d earned for all those years of service was a bullet in the back. 

A rooster crowed somewhere in the distance, telling the world to wake up. She needed to wake up, too. She was going to end up just like Samuel if she sat there any longer. Grimacing, she rolled the ranch hand over, peeling his coat from his body. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “I need it more than you do right now.”

She donned the thick oilcloth coat. It was well-worn from his work on the ranch, with dirt worked well into the material. Samuel was much taller than she was. The sleeves fell past her hands, and the hem dusted the tops of her boots. It was only cloth, but it shielded her from the world. 

She pulled several dead branches from the tree line, yanking them down into the ditch until they covered Samuel’s body. It wasn’t a proper burial by any means, but it was all she could do.

Pearl picked up his hat and settled it onto her head. It was too big, as well, coming down over her forehead and shielding her eyes. She was no longer Pearl Marlowe, a young woman who would one day inherit a beautiful ranch. She was a woman on the run, a woman wearing a dead man’s coat, a woman all alone. With one last look down the road, she walked toward town.

Chapter Two

Pearl kept her head down as she staggered into Bitter Creek. She knew the houses and buildings well. She’d been living there her whole life, and she’d seen many of them as they were being built. There was the little schoolhouse where Miss Matthews had taught her how to read and write. Over on the left was a grand house built by John Pickering, who’d found silver in the hills when he’d first come to Utah and had made his fortune. Many had attempted to follow in his footsteps, and though they hadn’t made the kind of money Mr. Pickering had, they’d helped build Bitter Creek into the bustling little town that it had become.

She would miss it. 

She heard the long, lonely whistle of the train and picked up the pace. Her mind and body had gone numb, putting aside the horrific scenes she’d witnessed at home and settling on a singular goal. Though her original plan had been to find the sheriff, Samuel’s dead body had been her warning that it wouldn’t do any good. There were no witnesses. Uncle Wyatt was a well-known businessman, a respected member of the community. Nobody would believe that he’d done such a thing.

And what would happen to her when she raved about the masked men and the murders? Pearl was young and unmarried. She’d be seen as unstable after such wild accusations, and the sheriff would remit her to the care of her only living relative. If they painted her as a madwoman, nobody would question why she was never seen again. Wyatt could kill her and dispose of her body while telling everyone else that she was convalescing quietly upstairs. 

It was speculation, but she also felt it was the truth. Her goal had changed, and the small packet of cash she’d found inside Samuel’s coat pocket had helped her decide on a new one. 

She passed the blacksmith and the general store, turning her head slightly to ensure nobody saw her, waved hello, and then wondered why she was dressed like that. Had word about the Marlowe Ranch spread into Bitter Creek? Were the old men who gathered at the restaurant for coffee and biscuits every morning sitting there right then, speculating on what had happened? Were they shaking their heads, wondering how such an unfortunate accident could take place?

Pearl pulled the collar of her coat a little higher up around her neck as she veered to the right, heading straight for the small public pump that sat next to the general store.  Travelers used it to water their horses, and children were often around it to wash up after a day of playing in the street. Pearl had hardly ever needed it, but on that day, it was like a beacon. 

She hefted the handle and shoved it down, sending a rush of water out of the spigot. Pearl held first one hand under it and then the other as she pumped, washing away the dirt and blood. She scrubbed the wound on her right hand, sending the cold water surging deep into the nasty gash. She splashed her face, shocked at the mud that came away. She even swept her wet hands over the dirtiest parts of the coat, though it didn’t help much. 

Finally, she cupped her hand and brought the water to her mouth. Pearl drank deeply, enough that it made her belly hurt, wishing she could wash away everything she felt inside as well.

Her dress was a problem now. It was filthy from her escape. No matter how clean her face was, she looked like little more than a beggar. With a glance toward the street, Pearl slipped down the alley behind the water pump. 

It took her a few blocks before she found what she wanted. Laundry flapped on a line. Someone had forgotten to bring it in the day before, but their oversight was her saving grace. She snagged a dark blue day dress, letting the pins fall to the ground. It was damp with dew, but it was clean. 

Pearl hurried two more blocks away before she took shelter in the small space between a house and a chicken coop, hurriedly whipping off her old dress and yanking on the new one. Nobody was around, and the sun hadn’t yet reached her shadowed corner, but she felt as though everyone was watching her. It wasn’t the kind of thing a woman of her standing would ever do.  Her parents would’ve been horrified.  But all of that had changed.  None of the rules applied anymore.

The dress was too big, but it was the best she was going to find. Pearl yanked her coat and hat back on. She shoved her old dress under the chicken coop and hurried back toward Main Street.

It was early in the day, but the train station was already busy. The chaos was enough to keep her from standing out, as long as nobody looked too closely. Pearl stepped into the queue at the ticket booth. She risked tipping her head back to check the schedule, and then she quickly snapped her gaze back down to her feet. She held the coat more tightly around her.

“Where to?” the ticket agent asked when she stepped to the window.

“San Francisco, please. Second class.” She pressed her tongue to the roof of her mouth, ready to recite the story she’d rehearsed to herself at least a dozen times as she’d walked away from Samuel’s body. She was a seamstress on her way to visit her ailing aunt. It was a simple enough story, and one she hoped would be believable.

“Sign here.” He pushed a book toward her without asking any further questions. “Train’s leaving in five minutes, so you’ll need to hurry.”

“Yes, sir.” She picked up the pen and scrawled her new name on the line: Lily Campbell. Would Wyatt come looking for her? Did he have any clue she was still alive? If he did, she couldn’t risk writing her real name and telling him exactly where she’d gone.

The agent gave her the price. Pearl handed over the precious cash. She had no way of making more money, at least not yet. She had to make it last until she was as far from home as possible.

With her ticket in her hand, she joined the rest of the crowd on the platform and waited. The first train of the day had already pulled in and was spilling out its passengers. They swarmed like ants over the platform, looking for their loved ones or trying to retrieve their luggage. Others were anxiously awaiting their turn to board, flicking their newly purchased tickets in their hands and shifting from one foot to another. 

“Did you hear about the Marlowe Ranch?” someone asked nearby.

Her heart froze.

“No,” a voice drawled in reply. “What happened?”

“They’re saying it was probably a Comanche raid,” the first man explained. “Everyone was killed, and the house was burned.”

“No survivors?” his companion asked.

“Not a one. They were thorough.” The speaker clucked his tongue. 

Pearl’s vision blurred, and the world tipped underneath her. 

“Someone alerted Wyatt Marlowe,” the first man continued. “He rode out there in the middle of the night to try to save them, but it was too late. Poor man. His whole family is gone, as well as the home his parents had built.”

Her fists curled. Anger and nausea warred in her stomach. It wasn’t the Comanches! Her father had been so concerned about the Natives that he hadn’t realized the danger was much closer to home! She was there, and she’d seen it all with her own eyes! 

“How’d you hear?” 

“Oh, the deputies are already asking around town,” the man said easily. “I had one stop me as I rode into town this morning. We haven’t had any raids like that in a long time, so they’re trying to get all the information they can.”

Pearl must have just missed them as she’d come into the city limits. 

“As a matter of fact, there’s one walking around here somewhere,” the man said. “I saw him just a minute ago.”

Sweat beaded on her forehead. She had to avoid the deputies at all costs. Though she was bursting to tell the truth, it would only get her killed. Pearl huddled against the outer wall of the station, waiting.

“Excuse me, ma’am.” 

The voice was close. Pearl looked up. A tall, handsome man was talking to a woman just a few feet away from her. 

He smiled, his teeth and the silver badge on his chest both flashing. “I was just wondering if I could ask you about some events that happened outside of town last night. We’re trying to get the community’s help on behalf of Wyatt Marlowe.”

“Wyatt Marlowe?” The woman was well-dressed and carried herself with poise. She tented her gloved fingers over her chest. “Whatever happened to him?”

“Not to him, but to some of his family, I’m afraid,” the deputy clarified.

“Oh, that’s good to hear. I mean, not for them. It’s just that Wyatt is a wonderful man, and you scared me for a moment!” Her sapphire ring glittered in the sun.

“Terribly sorry about that, ma’am.” 

Pearl moved away. She didn’t want to hear any more of their conversation. It had already confirmed her suspicion that she couldn’t go to the authorities. They were in Wyatt’s pocket, either by charm or by bribe. She edged closer to the train.

“All aboard!” the conductor called. The travelers on the platform surged forward, and the conductor put his hands up. “One at a time, folks! Let’s do this in a calm manner, and I assure you’ll all get what you paid for. Have your tickets ready, please.”

Pearl jammed herself into the crowd, wanting only to hide. She crept forward with the others as passengers boarded. Her lungs hardly seemed to work, and she was starting to get dizzy again. By the time she reached the conductor, the edges of her vision had gone dark. 

“Ticket, please,” he said brusquely. He took the slip of paper and punched it. “To your left, miss. Watch your step.” He grabbed her wrist, helping her over the gap between the train and the platform and up the stairs.

She turned left as directed, following a few other passengers to the second-class cars. The first one was already crowded, with most of the seats taken. It was closer to the dining car, but she didn’t need to be close to anything. Pearl hurried further back.

The third car was sparsely populated. Pearl considered a seat near the very back corner, but she thought that might make it obvious that she was hiding. She also wasn’t sure how much further she could walk. Even a few extra steps felt like a mile. She plunked down near the middle and scooted over to the window.

As exhausted as she was, Pearl couldn’t rest. She was still in Bitter Creek, so she still wasn’t safe. She took in her surroundings, noting the exits and thinking about how quickly she could get to them if needed.  She eyed the other passengers, as well. Did they have any idea who she was or why she was there? In reality, they probably didn’t know or care, and yet she felt exposed just being on the same train with them.

Something dragged her gaze across the aisle. When she looked, she met the pale blue eyes that were looking right back at her. Pearl sucked in a breath, caught by his rugged good looks and penetrating gaze. He wore a good suit with a waistcoat, and the gold chain of a pocket watch dangled from it. His fine clothes were a contrast to his weathered features and tanned skin. 

What caught her the most, however, was the way he looked at her. After holding her eyes for a while, his gaze swept over her features, down her body, and back up again. Those eyes penetrated her, seeing much more than the façade she’d so carefully created. With the slightest nod, he turned away and faced the front of the train.

Her stomach began churning again. She probably needed to eat something, but that was a problem for another time. Right now, she just needed to get the hell out of Bitter Creek.

Pearl turned to the window and instantly regretted it. Without thinking, she’d chosen the side of the train that overlooked the platform. The last few passengers were making their way aboard, and the platform had nearly cleared. The whistle blew to signal the train’s imminent departure just as two rough-looking men arrived on horseback. One of them swung down from the saddle and marched to the ticket officer. 

She held her breath as she looked them over, noting their gun belts. The one who remained mounted was looking around as though he was searching for something. These weren’t passengers who wanted to catch a last-minute train. The man adjusted his belt buckle, calling her attention to it. It carried the interlaced W and M that were her uncle’s ranch mark.

The world lurched underneath her, but that was because the engineer had let go of the brake. The train slid forward. The first man had begun gesturing wildly at the ticket agent, pointing at the train, but the agent was shaking his head and putting up his hands uselessly. 

Pearl quickly turned her head away from the window. She folded her hands in her lap and began praying, sending ceaseless supplication up to heaven that they might not find her. The train picked up speed as it rattled along the rails, flying through the town she’d spent her whole life in. She was finally leaving Bitter Creek, but she found little comfort in it. Those men wouldn’t be far behind her, and the telegraph wires ran faster than any locomotive. 

She was safe, but just for now.

Chapter Three

Colton Briggs looked across the train car and out the window, watching the two men who’d ridden into the station on a cloud of dust. He knew their kind far too well, but he didn’t let them worry him. That part of his past was far behind him, or at least as far as he could put it for now.

Instead, he watched the young woman as she watched the gunslingers. Colton had been behind her in the ticket line. He’d noticed the way she’d tried to pull herself down inside that coat, as though if she wrapped it tightly enough around her she might not be seen. The dark braid of hair that ran down her back had first caught his attention for the way a few lighter strands ran through it. The hole in the back of her coat had grabbed his eye, as well. It sure looked like a bullet hole.  That was an odd choice for a young woman.

Her shoulders were set and tense as she watched the men on the platform. Her knuckles whitened as her fingers wrapped around the edge of her coat and squeezed tightly. Why was she so scared of them? With her oversized coat, floppy hat, and dusty boots, she barely looked decent enough to have been allowed on the train. Perhaps she was a thief of some sort, in which case he’d need to keep an eye on his belongings.

She didn’t quite have the face of a thief, though. He’d gotten a good look at it just a moment before, when she’d caught him staring and he’d been unable to look away. Colton usually had much more control over himself than that, but her beautiful face under that hideous hat had caught his attention.  She had high cheekbones and full lips. Her nose was slim, and it tipped up slightly at the end. Her eyes were dark emeralds, shining as they took in her surroundings. A person’s breeding and background couldn’t truly be told by their looks, but she looked too refined to be a typical sneakthief.

The smattering of freckles across her nose and the tops of her cheeks suggested that she spent at least a little bit of time outside, but she didn’t have the dry, weathered look of someone who’d been working day after day in the Utah sun. He wondered about her, but the most important thing was that she wasn’t likely a threat to him. Very few people were.

The woman jerked her head to face the front as the train pulled out of the station, but she still carried the same tension in her hands and shoulders. Her mouth was a firm line. Though her green eyes stared straight ahead, he doubted they were truly seeing anything.

She was a woman who was running away from something. There was a worried desperation about her that he recognized. He ought to, since he’d been carrying it around himself for a decade. It’d lessened over time, of course. There were moments when he could truly feel at peace, and they were happening more often. But Colton knew that the moment he stopped watching his back was the moment he would need to be watching it the most. That’s why he was doing the same thing as the young woman, paying attention to every last detail around him.

Colton looked away from her before she caught him looking a second time. Once was a coincidence, but not twice. He gazed out his own window, looking past the blur of the farmhouses that rushed past and focusing on the fields and hills in the distance. The tracks curved, and he could see the engine as the train went around the bend. The cars stretched behind as it chugged toward the mountains, destined to carry them away from Bitter Creek and into new territory. 

He tugged at his lapels, still not used to finer clothing even though he’d been hoisting himself up in the world for the past five years. The suit made him feel stiff and stuffy, like he wouldn’t be able to move quickly if he should need to. 

He flicked open the pocket watch, a habit that was more about having something to do with his hands than with checking the time. Its tick was quiet but urgent, and at the moment it made him think of a bomb counting down the seconds until it blew up.

But there was no need to think like that right now. Colton put the pocket watch away and readjusted his jacket. As soon as he reached San Francisco, he’d sign a legitimate business deal that would make him the man he’d pretended to be for the last five years. The past would truly be behind him then. He could let go, and he’d be glad to do it.

“Pardon me,” a young woman said, her voice bright and sunny. “Do you happen to have any knitting needles with you?”

Colton glanced to his right to find that a passenger was speaking to the woman with green eyes. 

She shook her head and seemed to shrink into her seat. “I’m afraid I don’t.”

“Oh, that’s too bad.” The second woman invited herself to sit down right next to her while she propped her carpet bag on her lap and began to dig through it. “I always like to bring something to do when I’m on the train. I simply can’t stand the hours and hours of doing nothing! Now, I know there’s plenty to look at. Don’t get me wrong. It’s beautiful, but I’ve been taking quite a few trips now between here and Reno. My sister moved out there a year ago, you see, and I like to visit. They have a lovely place.”

The woman seemed to shrink away from her visitor, pushing herself as far into the wall as she could. 

The newcomer was digging in her bag again. “I brought my yarn, but somehow, I managed to leave my needles behind! Can you imagine? Just wait until I get back home and I tell my husband. He’s always telling me how forgetful I am, and I suppose it’s true. Oh, and I’ve even forgotten to introduce myself. I’m Patricia Fornwalt.” She extended her hand.

The green-eyed woman studied Patricia’s hand as though it were a snake that might bite her. Finally, she took it. “I’m Lily Campbell.”

That was the same name that was just above his where they’d each signed the register at the train station, but there was something about it that felt wrong to Colton.

“It’s so nice to meet you!” Patricia gushed. “Where are you headed?”

Lily opened her mouth and then clamped it shut again for a moment. She took a deep breath and started again. “San Francisco. I’m going to visit my aunt. She hasn’t been well lately.”

“Isn’t that nice of you!” Patricia swept her fingers across Lily’s arm. “Well, you’ve got a way to go yet. Tell me about yourself. Are you married?”

Lily’s eyes darted to the side. “No.”

“Do you work?” Patricia pressed.

Colton swept his hand over his face to hide a smile. He was just as curious about Lily Campbell, but Patricia was asking all the questions for him.

“I’m a seamstress,” Lily said. 

“How nice. I should get some tips from you. I like to knit, as I said, but I’ve never done very well with a regular needle and thread. My poor mother tried to teach me, but no matter what, I just couldn’t get any of my stitches even! It didn’t matter if I was trying to sew a garment or doing needlepoint. I’m just terrible. One day she handed my sampler back to me, patted my head, and said, ‘You’re pretty, Patricia. I’m sure that’ll be good enough.’” She laughed a bit too long.

Lily only gave her a fluttering smile, but she offered no advice about getting her stitches even.

“Have you ever been to Reno?” Patricia asked.

“I haven’t.” Lily wasn’t crunched as tightly against the wall now. She’d let her guard down a little, but she wasn’t exactly at ease. 

“You should really spend some time there if you ever get the chance! Your aunt is your priority right now, of course. What’s the matter with her?”

Lily swallowed. “With my aunt? Um, the doctors aren’t sure.”

“A mystery illness!” Patricia exclaimed as though it was the most exciting thing in the world. “Well, I’m sure there are some very good doctors in San Francisco. After all, it’s booming these days. It’s probably no different than what you’d find anywhere else. Isn’t it just amazing to see how our country is changing?”

“Of course,” Lily said quietly.

Colton turned away. Lily was lying. Of that much, he was certain. Her story was far too rehearsed, and there was no emotion behind it. He wasn’t even entirely certain that her name was Lily Campbell. How deep did her lie go? And why? 

He shouldn’t even be curious about her. It didn’t matter to him. She could be running from the police, and it still wouldn’t be his business. 

So why was he so interested?

The door at the front of the car opened, and Colton was no longer interested in Lily Campbell at all.

A tall man strode through, his eyes scanning the passengers. He moved with ease, as though he belonged there. He tipped his hat and smiled at a woman up near the front of the car, making her giggle. His hair was combed straight back to show off his arched brows and wide eyes. To someone who didn’t know his true nature, he probably looked like quite the gentleman.

But Colton knew exactly what Jasper Kane was capable of. His blood turned to ice. He tugged his hat a little lower over his brow as he casually looked out his window, hoping not to draw the man’s attention. 

Kane’s boots thudded softly on the carpeted aisle. Colton felt every one of them like a pulse in his heart. Gorgeous scenery flooded past his window, but Colton wasn’t looking at any of it. He angled his head slightly so that he could see the reflection of everything behind him, instead. Kane moved past him, settling into a seat near the back of the car.

Colton’s hand drifted toward the revolver tucked into a holster under his jacket, a remnant of his former life. It didn’t exactly match the businessman’s attire that he wore these days, but it was an accessory he couldn’t let go of, not yet. Kane’s presence proved that. His hand curled around the butt of the revolver, the handle melding easily into his palm. He inched one finger forward, just enough to slide along the curve of the trigger. It would be so easy. It would take only one swift movement to pull the weapon free and dispatch his enemy. 

But Colton let go and dropped his hands back into his lap. He’d promised himself he’d never draw that revolver again, not unless his life truly depended on it. Though there was no doubt that Jasper Kane was a threat, it wasn’t the time or the place. 

Three days to San Francisco. A short train ride, considering how many miles they were traveling, but a long one if he expected to remain invisible. Could he evade an assassin for three whole days in such a confined space? Or was he wiser to get off at the next stop and abandon the business deal that waited for him?

Colton risked a glance at Lily. She was still engaged in conversation with Patricia, who was giggling over something. Perhaps Kane’s good looks? Lily watched her unsolicited visitor with a cold concentration, as though she were gathering information about Patricia and trying to decide if she was safe or not.

Then those green eyes darted to him. One side of her mouth quirked up slightly. Was she amused to catch him watching her again? It was hard to tell, considering how stiffly she held her body.

Colton turned once again faced the front of the car. It would be an interesting three days.

Chapter Four

Patricia had finally fallen asleep. 

It was nice to have someone to talk to, or rather, someone to listen to. Pearl felt it was also good for her in terms of being discovered. She looked much more normal if she was chatting with a friend, even if Patricia could be rather loud and obnoxious. 

That last part was what made it a bit of a relief that her accidental traveling companion was asleep. 

In the resulting silence, however, Pearl’s mind had returned to worrying. She looked out the window, craning her head around to look as far behind them as possible. Every time she peered through the glass, she was convinced that Wyatt’s men would come galloping up alongside the train, their guns leveled directly at her. Logic told her they were miles behind, and even the fastest horses couldn’t keep up with a train over such a long distance. 

Fear didn’t have any use for logic, however. Her insides still trembled every time she closed her eyes or even blinked too long, when visions of the raid on her home came flooding right back to her. Would she ever forget the sight of all those masked men as they raced across the barnyard? Or Wyatt’s cruel voice just before he killed her mother? Or the cold command for her father’s execution?

It was all tragic, but that part was bothering her the most right now. 

Pearl watched through her bedroom window, frozen by the sight of the invaders, as her father rushed out the door. His rifle was raised, ready to fight for his family and property. 

One man rode up and pulled down his mask.

The muzzle of her father’s rifle had fallen a little at seeing his face. “Slade? What is all this? What are you doing with these men? When my brother finds out that his own foreman has betrayed him—”

Slade’s laugh was harsh, like dry branches in the wind. He was a rough-looking man, his cheeks pocked with scars. His narrow lips peeled back in a callous grin. “Wyatt already knows, Reuben. He knows about all of this. You’re the only one who’s been in the dark.”

Her father shook his head. “I refuse to believe that until I hear it from Wyatt’s own lips,” he asserted. “In the meanwhile, I suggest you and your men get off my ranch.”

Slade whistled, and one of the masked men rode forward. “Kill him.”

Though he raised his gun, it was too late. The gunshot cracked through the air like thunder, and her father reeled backwards. He fell onto the porch steps, his blood soaking into the wood.

It was then that Pearl had finally realized just how dangerous a situation she was in. She forced herself away from the window, tears blurring her eyes. She raced down the back set of stairs, the steps steep and uneven under her feet, and she kept going until she reached the relative safety of the root cellar.

Pearl pulled in a deep breath and pushed out her cheeks, wishing she’d done something different. What that would’ve been, she didn’t know.

Her stomach growled. She hadn’t eaten anything all day. She hadn’t really even wanted to, but she no longer had Patricia’s constant chatter to cover the sound of the rumblings inside her. Pearl considered her options, of which there were very few. She could stay right there in her seat and starve for the next few days, or she could risk getting up and going into the dining car. Neither sounded good. When her stomach made an angry, sour sound, she got up.

The dining car was packed. Pearl froze in the doorway as she glanced around at the passengers crammed into every seat. She’d seen that some folks from her car had gone that way, but she’d completely forgotten that the car was accessible for all second-class passengers. There were families, miners, and merchants at every table. The stools at the counter were entirely occupied. 

“Don’t worry, miss.” A steward with kind eyes approached her. “There’s one seat left, if you don’t mind a bit of company.” 

She followed his gaze and found that the one chair available was at a small table for two. The other occupant was the man with the blue eyes, the one who’d been watching her so closely. He was reading a newspaper now, holding it up in front of him and mostly ignoring the food on the table. 

Pearl didn’t want to sit with him. She didn’t really want to sit with anyone, but he’d already been paying too much attention to her. Even more people, however, would be made aware of her presence if she refused, and so she nodded at the steward.

“Excuse me, sir, but if I could seat the lady across from you?” the steward asked politely as he pulled out the chair.

The blue eyes peered quickly around the newspaper and then disappeared again. “Certainly.”

“I’ll bring your food right away, miss,” the steward promised. In short order, he’d placed a cup of tea, a sandwich, and a bowl of fruit in front of her. “Let me know if you need anything else.”

She nibbled the sandwich while she stared at the newspaper in front of her. Pearl studied his fingers around the edge of the paper. They were strong, calloused, and scarred.  He was stiff and rigid, the posture of someone who didn’t want to be noticed. She only recognized that in him because her own body had already become achy and sore from being held the same way.

Pearl was suspicious of him, but she was also intrigued. “Must be a slow news day. You haven’t turned the page the entire time I’ve been here.”

The newspaper slowly lowered, revealing those piercing eyes again. He folded the paper without taking his gaze off of her, his face schooled into a countenance of polite disinterest. “I didn’t mean to be rude. It’s difficult to concentrate on a train. So many people around.”

It was a casual enough statement, but Pearl thought it might hold more meaning than that coming from him. “I’ve noticed.”

He took two full breaths before he spoke again. “My name is Colton Briggs. It’s nice to meet you.” He extended his hand.

She took it. “Lily Campbell. Are you riding all the way through to San Francisco?”

“Yes,” he said, “just like you.”

That unsettled her, but she guessed it was meant to. “What business do you have in California?”

“I invest in railroad properties throughout the West. I have a contract to sign in San Francisco.” He leaned forward slightly as he picked up his teacup. “And what about you? Where are you headed, Lily Campbell?”

She didn’t like the way he said her name, as though he knew it was only a pseudonym. “San Francisco, as well, to visit my ailing aunt.”

He nodded. “And I believe I overheard that you’re a seamstress? Your traveling companion isn’t exactly subtle,” Mr. Briggs added when she hesitated.

“Right.” The knot that’d formed in her stomach loosened slightly. There was a possibility that Wyatt had sent someone after her, that he’d quickly figured out she’d escaped the Marlowe Ranch and had placed someone on the train just in case she’d decided to escape. Given all that Wyatt had done at the ranch, though, Pearl didn’t think it would be his style. Why lure her in slowly when he could just have her killed? No, there was something going on with Mr. Briggs, but it wasn’t that.

“Is everything to your satisfaction?” the steward asked, wringing his hands slightly in front of him as he eyed their barely touched plates.

“Yes. It’s just fine. Thank you,” Pearl told him, forcing a wide smile. 

“Sir?” The steward wanted confirmation from both of them.

His eyes flicked to Pearl and then back to the steward. “No need to worry. I’m afraid we just got caught up in our conversation.”

The older man smiled, bowed slightly, and moved on to the next table.

Pearl’s stomach growled, reminding her that the steward wasn’t the only one who wanted her to eat. She wasn’t sure about Mr. Briggs, but at least no harm could come to her while they were sitting there in front of so many other people. She began eating her sandwich again.

They ate in silence for a time, and Pearl thought they were each equally aware of each other. She sensed his eyes on her when she looked down at her plate, and she studied him when he reached down for his napkin.

“Your hands don’t look like they belong to a seamstress,” he said after a while.

She’d just picked up her fork to stab at a pineapple. She missed, and the tines pinged against the plate. “Pardon?” On the second try, she shoved her fork through the fruit.

“Your hands,” he said casually, though there was nothing truly casual about him. He had a way of speaking that allowed him to make heavy statements without a tone that would catch anyone else’s ear. “There are no calluses, no pinpricks. They don’t seem like the hands of a seamstress.”

Pearl swallowed, but she kept her jaw tight. “Did it occur to you that perhaps I’m just a very good seamstress?”

“Considering the way your dress fits you, no,” Mr. Briggs replied smartly. “A seamstress may not be a wealthy woman. She may not have fine fabrics, but she’d certainly be able to alter any garment to fit her figure nicely. It wouldn’t hang off of her like a potato sack.”

Her nostrils flared. She was angry with the insult, and she had to remind herself that she really wasn’t a seamstress. Pearl was believing her own story now, and it was going to trip her up.

“I’m not entirely sure that a coat like that would be the sort of fashion statement a seamstress would make, either,” he added, driving his point home.  “Though I don’t know much about women’s fashion.”

“I was in a hurry when I left Bitter Creek,” Pearl explained. That was true, even if she was implying something other than stealing a dress from a clothesline while running from murderers.

Amusement danced in his blue eyes. She saw that they were bright cobalt with flecks of sky, sea, and midnight in them. 

“You might want to get it fixed when you have the chance, then. I hate to think of what an ill-fitting dress would do for a seamstress’s reputation,” he told her.

Pearl took a long drink, thinking. “You know,” she said when she set her cup down. “You don’t strike me as a businessman.”

“No?” he asked, humor twisting up the corners of his mouth, implying that she couldn’t possibly play his game and win. “You don’t think the suit and the pocket watch are suitable for a railroad investor.”

“Certainly they are,” Pearl conceded. “I’m not sure about the second-class ticket, though, unless you’re just not very good at your business.”

Mr. Briggs raised one dark brow. “A smart man knows when to save his money and when to spend it.”

“I’m sure you’re quite right. Being just a lowly seamstress, I only know how to save it.” She polished off her sandwich and dusted her hands. “I’ve never met a businessman, however, who always sits with his back to the wall, watching the door like he expects someone to come through it shooting.”

His jovial look sharpened into something like respect. Mr. Briggs didn’t argue with her or try to defend himself. He merely lifted his teacup to concede the point. “I suppose a seamstress would have an eye for details, wouldn’t she?”

Was he saying he accepted her story, or merely going along with it?

Mr. Briggs cleared his throat and stood up. “It appears there are others waiting for seats. It was a pleasure dining with you, Miss Campbell. If you’ll excuse me.” He took his newspaper with him and headed back toward his seat.

Flustered, Pearl rose and pushed back her chair as well. She realized, however, that she couldn’t exactly go back to her seat. Then she’d be right across the aisle from Mr. Briggs, and she needed a bit of time away from him just then. He was unusual and even slightly suspicious, but he also took her breath away. 

Recalling a previous rail trip she’d taken with her father, Pearl decided the observation deck was in order. She nodded politely at the steward and headed toward the back of the train. That meant, of course, that she had to go right past Mr. Briggs. She pointedly did so with her chin in the air, refusing to look at him. From the corner of her eye, she thought he might be pretending to read his newspaper again. As she slipped out the back end of the car, she felt his eyes on her. Well, let him wonder. They were each their own mysteries.

Once she’d slipped through the narrow confines of the freight car, the observation car was a glorious sight. Rich wood encased massive windows that allowed the maximum view of the surrounding terrain. Plush chairs—far more comfortable than the one she’d left Patricia snoring in—were spaced comfortably throughout the car. A small bar sat in the corner at the front, where a bartender was currently pouring a batch of cocktails. 

It was lovely, but she needed fresh air. Pearl stepped out the back and onto the vestibule, where there was nothing but a waist-high railing to keep her from stepping off onto the tracks. She watched the rails go speeding out from underneath the train, flying so quickly that it made her dizzy. Then she looked up and out, inhaling deeply as though she might inhale the sky itself.

“Lovely, isn’t it?” a voice said behind her.

She spun around to find a tall woman, probably about her mother’s age. She was finely dressed, wearing a corset and bustle even out on the frontier. She smiled as she swirled the dark liquid in her whiskey glass. “Pardon me. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Oh, that’s all right.” Pearl’s heart hammered, but it slowed a little to see that it was another woman. “I’m just very jumpy today.”

The woman watched her carefully with dark brown eyes the same color as her drink. Then she stretched out her hand. “Madame Cordelia Vance. A pleasure.”

“P—Lily Campbell.” She’d nearly slipped! Mr. Briggs had thrown her off even more than she’d realized. If he already suspected that she was lying, she needed to be more careful when dealing with everyone else on the train. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, as well. Are you going all the way to San Francisco?”

“Yes. It’s a business trip for me, though I try to take as much pleasure in it as possible. That’s why I’m out here, where I can enjoy myself.” Madame Vance sipped her cocktail. “How about you?”

“I’m afraid it’s not business or pleasure.” Pearl rehearsed her now-familiar story about visiting her ailing aunt. She wished she’d come up with something better, but there’d been so little time. 

“Traveling alone?” the older woman asked.

Pearl bobbed her head. “Yes.”

Madame Vance’s eyes were hooded, giving her the appearance of a satisfied cat out in the sun. “Brave of you. Many women don’t like to travel alone. I always preferred to have my husband at my side when he was alive, God rest his soul. He could find the joy in any journey.”

“I’m very sorry for your loss,” Pearl said automatically.

“No, dear. Don’t be. He was a wonderful man, and I do miss him, but he lived a good life. I had the pleasure of being married to someone who loved me for who I am, and that’s a rare thing. I prefer to be happy about the past instead of sorry about the future.” She spoke with elegance and grace, her voice clear and bright.

“That’s a very positive way to look at it,” Pearl acknowledged, unsure of what else to say. She didn’t think she could ever think of her parents’ deaths that way.

Madame Vance came to stand next to her at the rail, unperturbed by the jostling of the train underneath them, even though the wind whipped the feather in her hat. “If you don’t mind my saying so, you seem rather troubled for such a young woman.”

Pearl minded very much, actually, because she’d managed to attract attention to herself once again when she was trying not to. “Does one have to wait until later in life to be troubled?”

Madame Vance laughed and patted her perfectly coifed blonde hair. “Definitely not, my dear! You’ve got me there. Perhaps it’s just that younger people typically ignore their problems.”

“I suppose some do.” Her problems, however, were ones that she simply couldn’t ignore.

The older woman smiled. “These western trains attract all manner of people fleeing their pasts, you know. Whatever it is that bothered them in one place, they believe they can get away from it by simply going somewhere else. It doesn’t always work that way. In fact, most of the time, it doesn’t work that way at all.”

Pearl searched for the right answer, trying not to get defensive. She’d never said she was running away from her past, and perhaps Madame Vance was just speaking in general terms, but it struck her like a well-aimed arrow. 

Before she could say anything, a gunshot rang out. The passengers inside the observation car all jumped and turned toward the sound of screams from the freight car.