A Touch of Camelot (19 page)

Sidney snapped out of his reverie. "You were saying that it's not wise to assume."

Jasper let out an exasperated sigh. "Sometimes I get the feeling that one of these days you will just fly away despite all of this." He made a grand sweeping motion, indicating the trappings of material wealth.

Sidney's lips crooked into a dry smile. "Whatever would make you think of such a thing?"

"It's the way you moon over those paintings of yours, as if you would like nothing better than to dive into them, to fling yourself once and for all out of time and place."

"Don't we all feel that way from time to time, Jasper? Isn't that only human? To dream?"

Jasper brushed this aside. "I'm sure I wouldn't know. All I do know is that you have everything you ever wanted in the here and now, and you didn't do it alone."

"I'm aware of that."

"Why, if it weren't for the Round Table, we wouldn't now be on the verge of taking City Hall."

We?
Sidney thought cynically.

"Why, if it weren't for the Round Table, you wouldn't have been able to build this beautiful—"

Ringo cleared his throat.

"What's that?" Jasper looked at him. "Finished with your first course already, Mr. Ringo?"

The blond giant nodded as he lifted his napkin to his lips, dabbing so daintily it struck Sidney as ludicrous. "Fine grub."

"Fine grub indeed!" Jasper broke into a fat grin and raised his wineglass in a toast. "What is the name of that new cook of yours again?"

"Mrs. Jackson."

"Ah, yes, a veritable treasure, this Mrs. Jackson. Pray tell, what is the entrée this evening?"

"Broiled oysters, salad, and cheese," Sidney answered, allowing his mind to wander again.

He felt a certain exhilaration over the fact that the Pierces had somehow escaped the assassin sent to end their lives aboard the Central Pacific Express. They had thwarted the all-powerful Round Table. Sidney just hoped that they had also managed to escape the Pinkerton operative assigned to bring them back to San Francisco. He hoped they were on their way east and far away from here, because if they weren't ...

His gaze rose again to
First Kiss
, to Emmaline's enraptured, ever-youthful face.
I hope you're watching over your children, my love. There's only so much I can do for them in the here and now.

Chapter Fifteen

Virginia City

In the back room behind Dr. Price's examining room, Cole ran a hand through hair still damp from his bath and reached for the coat that lay at the foot of the cot where he had spent most of the past two days on his back. He felt much better. Physically, anyhow.

He slipped his arms into his new coat, a brown, single-breasted alpaca. It was almost identical to the one that had been ruined on the train. He shrugged his shoulders and flexed his arms, wincing at the protesting ache from his healing wound. "Where did your sister learn to shop for men's clothing?" he asked Arthur, who was perched on a stool by the narrow bed.

Arthur grinned. "Does it fit?"

The boy still wore his faded red undershirt and overalls, both of which needed laundered. Gwin had bought a new set of clothing for her brother, too, but he had shown no interest in trying them on.

"It fits like a glove," Cole said, surprised that Gwin had managed to choose a full set of clothes that fit him so perfectly without either his measurements or his physical presence.

Arthur folded his arms. "Oh, Gwinnie's got a lot of hidden talents. Don't you doubt it."

"Oh, I wouldn’t' doubt it, Arthur. I wouldn't doubt it for a minute."

During the time that Cole had been laid up, Gwin had been out earning money. God only knew what that meant. At first, he had assumed she was hustling up card games. That idea hadn't exactly set well with him, but now his imagination had conjured up some vastly more troubling possibilities.

Somehow, in two short days, Gwin had managed to earn enough money to buy all three of them new clothes and pay Dr. Price for his medical services. And now, she was determined that the three of them go out for a fancy dinner. That all added up to a pretty penny, a
very
pretty penny for a young woman to earn in only two days.

Cole frowned. He wondered if Gwin had been up to more than just cardsharping. He remembered the scene he had stumbled on in the saloon car: Gwin seated across from that slimy gambler, Monroe, smiling coyly as she slid a couple of poker chips into the pot. He imagined her voice, soft and enticing.
"I'll call you and raise you one."
And him, that gutter slime, ogling her figure, grinning like a fox as he slid his own chips to the center of the table.
And by the way, Gwin, just how were you planning on paying up if you'd lost to Mr. Monroe?

"Cole? What's the matter?"

"What?" He turned to Arthur, who looked concerned.

"What's the matter? Does your arm hurt?"

"No." Cole glanced down and realized his fists were clenched. He flexed his fingers stiffly. "No, it's fine. I'm fine. I was just thinking of ... nothing. Never mind." He bent to gather up his old clothes.

Why do you care so much how she earned the money?

Because I'm wearing the clothes she bought with that money. Dirty money is dirty money. If she was—

If she was, what? If she was selling her company to buy these clothes for you, you're too good to wear them?

Cole's grip tightened on his shirt. Lofty, self-righteous reasoning, that, but this realization did nothing to untie the knot in his gut.

"What are you going to do with your old clothes?” Arthur asked. "Burn them?"

Cole examined the torn, bloodstained shirt in his hand. "That wouldn't be a bad idea."

A sudden thought struck him and he reached down to scoop up his ruined coat. "That reminds me." He pulled something from an inside pocket. "This wouldn't happen to belong to you, would it?" He held up Arthur's slingshot.

"Excalibur!" The boy snatched it from him. "You remembered Excalibur!"

"You told me to take care of it, didn't you?"

"I thought you left it on the train."

Gwin interrupted their exchange. "And better that he should have. When are you going to give up that old thing?"

Cole looked up to see her standing in the open doorway, and something in his chest constricted. She looked stunning. Her cheeks were flushed bright with color. She wore an emerald green dress that only heightened the dazzling color of her hair, and the neckline, an off-the-shoulder cut, revealed enough swelling, pale flesh to rivet any red-blooded man's attention. Cole's gaze lingered there before it rose again to meet her expectant gaze. She was waiting for him to say something, but his mouth had gone unaccountably dry.

Luckily, Arthur spoke for him. "Gee, Gwinnie, you sure do look pretty."

Gwin frowned at her little brother. "And what are you doing still in those old clothes? Didn't I tell you to—"

"I did take a bath! I really did! Didn't I, Cole?"

Gwin addressed Cole. "Why didn't you make him change those old stinking clothes? Do I have to see to everything?"

 Cole was still at a loss for words. "Well, I, uh ..."

Gwin tossed up her hands. "Men!" She crossed the room and scooped up a pile of folded clothes from the night table, a white shirt, a brown coat, matching trousers, socks, and fresh underdrawers. She shoved the bundle at Arthur. "Now."

"Aw, geez!"

"Now."

Arthur donned a tragic expression and craned his neck to look around her shoulder at Cole.

Cole shrugged in reply to the boy's unspoken plea. "Don't look at me."

"I thought we men were supposed to stick together," Arthur accused, accepting the bundle from Gwin.

"Only on some things, kiddo."

"You can change in the upstairs bedroom," Gwin said firmly.

"These are sissy clothes," Arthur grumbled, but he apparently knew defeat when it was dealt. He was already moving for the door.

When he was gone, Gwin turned back to Cole. Immediately, his attention was drawn back to the neckline of that dress.
That dress ...
The bodice hugged her tight all the way down to the enticing flare of her hips.

"Well?" she asked, interrupting his thoughts.

"Where did you get the money for all this?"

"None of your business."

Cole tried to read her eyes. Cool blue. Nothing there. In Cole's imagination, Monroe turned to rest one elbow on the back of his chair, wearing a sly smile.
"Why don't you run along, son? The lady is in the middle of a game right now and doesn't want to be disturbed ..."

"Does that mean you've got something to hide?" Cole asked, an irrational knot of anger tightening again in his gut.

"Of course not. I just don't like your tone of voice."

Cole clasped his hands behind his back and looked down at his feet. He silently counted to five before raising his head again. "All right, your ladyship. How about this?
Please
would you mind telling me how you managed to get your hands on so much money in so short a time?"

"Now you're being condescending."

"How much do you have left?"

Gwin clutched her gloves and reticule tighter, hugging them to her stomach. "None of your business."

"What's in the bag?"

"Nothing."

Cole took a step toward her. "What's in the bag, Gwin?"

She took a step back. "Personal things. Woman things."

"Don't lie to me. Let me see what's in there."

"No."

Cole reached for the reticule. Gwin jumped back. "Hey!"

"How much do you have in there? Ten? Twenty? Fifty?"

"I have enough for dinner."

Cole held out his hand, wiggling his fingers expectantly. "Then, you shouldn't mind if I have a look, right?"

Gwin didn't move to oblige, so Cole wrapped his fingers around the bag and tugged. Gwin tugged back. Trying to disengage that green silk bag from her stubborn fingers was like trying to pry fresh meat from an alligator's jaws, but Cole finally won their tug-of-war.

Gwin bent to retrieve white gloves that had fallen to the floor in their scuffle. "You almost tore it. Do you have any idea how much I paid for that thing?"

"Oh, I have an idea, all right." Cole loosened the drawstring and dumped the contents out onto a night table. A handful of silver and gold coins spilled out, two double eagles among them, a small perfume bottle, a silver pocket watch, a comb, a lace-edged handkerchief and... Cole picked up three walnut shells and a small round object. He dropped the shells and held the tiny ball up to the light. It looked like a cherry pit.

"What... ?" he began, and it hit him. "Shell games? You were running
shell games
?"

Gwin jerked on first one glove, then the other. "I don’t want to hear a word about it. It’s perfectly legal.”

Cole started to laugh. He laughed so hard, he doubled over. "You've got to be joking! That's the oldest scam on earth."

"I don't see what's so funny about it. It bought us all a nice set of clothes and it's going to put food in our mouths tonight."

"Shell games!" Cole was hardly able to get the words out. For the last two days, Gwin had been out running shell games. He was so relieved, he didn't have the heart to be angry.

"Cole Shepherd, stop laughing. What's wrong with you?"

"Thimble-riggers!" Cole managed to get out between guffaws. "That's what we used to call you people. I'm surprised there are still folks around who will fall for those old tricks."

Gwin sniffed. "There's a sucker born every minute. Besides, how stupid do you think I am? I let them win often enough."

"Oh, I'll bet." Cole straightened, miming a fisherman casting his pole. "Just enough to reel them suckers in."

"Ha! You think you're so darn smart. I'll just bet you would never fall for it, right?"

"Oh, I don't know ..." Cole chuckled, finally gaining some control over himself. "Maybe if the girl running the game looked like you, even I might be tempted to—"

"Tempted to what?"

On impulse, Cole closed the distance between them. He gripped her by the shoulders and pulled her up against him. The subtle fragrance of spring-fresh lilacs assaulted his senses. "Never mind." He smiled down at her surprised expression. "By the way, did I happen to mention that you look—"

Arthur shattered the moment. "Aw, geez! These pants are so stiff, I can hardly bend my legs."

Startled, Gwin pulled away and turned to face her brother, who sulked in the open doorway. Cole took a discreet step back. Arthur was apparently too distracted by his own miserable situation to notice his sister's embarrassment.

She recovered smoothly. "Now, that's more like it."

Arthur scowled. "I don't want to go to any stupid old restaurant, anyway. Why can't we stay here for dinner like we did last night?"

"Don't you dare complain." Gwin snatched a comb from the night table, crossed to him, and started running it through his tousled mop.

"Hey, ouch! Ouch! Stop it!"

She ignored his protests, concentrating instead on taming his wayward locks. "You need a haircut, too, but we'll just have to take care of that tomorrow. Tonight we're going to order us up a fine meal and enjoy ourselves. I think we deserve it after what we've been through, and then—"

Cole interrupted pointedly. "We need to talk."

Gwin continued as if she hadn't heard. "We need to figure a way to earn some more money. What I have now isn't going to get us very far."

"Just how far are you planning to go?" Cole asked.

Gwin bent to button the open collar of Arthur's shirt. "That is none of your concern."

Arthur grimaced. "You're gagging me."

"I can get money," Cole said. "I tried to tell you that before. I can wire the Agency."

Gwin folded down Arthur's starched collar and turned briskly to cross the room. The elaborate ruffle of her dress whish-whooshed as she moved. "It's too late for that today."

Cole approached her from behind and touched her shoulder. "Tomorrow, then. I can wire the Agency first thing in the morning."