According to Hoyle (18 page)

Flynn glared at the man from where he lay in his own berth, wishing he had never opened his mouth. Now, he would have to ask his question, or think up something else on the fly. He could just tell the man to shut up and be done with it, but his curiosity was getting the better of him. Just because he’d seen Rose kiss a man who had saved his life meant very little. He sighed and glanced to the flickering hurricane lamp that was bolted to the wall of their cabin.

“Is it true you lie with men instead of women?” he asked, his curiosity winning out over the embarrassment of asking. He blushed hotly in the dark of the cabin anyway.

“Why, Marshal, wherever did you hear such a thing?” Rose asked in feigned innocence, obviously aware of Flynn’s discomfort and enjoying it a little too much. He raised his shackled hands and lifted the brim of his hat, peering sideways at Flynn with a smirk. Flynn was glad that the flickering light masked his blush as Rose examined him. “Yes, it is.”

Flynn turned his head with a jerk and blinked at his prisoner in shock, more from the easy admission than the actual answer. “Why?” he blurted.

Rose rested his head back against his thin pillow and laughed softly. “Marshal,” he gasped as he tried to contain his laughter, “you are endearingly naïve sometimes.” He snickered as he slid his hat back over his eyes.

Flynn stared at him, curious despite himself. Whenever Rose spoke, it always seemed like some sort of mental trap, and Flynn again found himself regretting ever having opened his mouth and yet struggling with the urge to ask more.

 “And you, Marshal Flynn? Do you prefer men as well when given the choice?” Rose asked as if asking if the sky was blue.

“That’s none of your goddamned business,” Flynn said in outrage. “Shut up. Go to sleep,” he ordered as he rolled onto his other side, thoroughly scandalized and done with the conversation.

Rose’s soft laughter echoed behind him. “There is a certain amount of awkwardness to figuring it out, I admit. At first. But the way you touch yourself is the way you touch another man,” the prisoner continued in that slow, lilting drawl that Flynn had long ago begun to hate. “It’s not at all difficult to figure out for those who may be inclined.”

“I said shut up,” Flynn growled in annoyance. He didn’t know whether the discussion was embarrassing him or causing too much interest, and either way he wanted it stopped. A brief thought of Wash lying in the cabin several decks down distracted him from growing even more outraged at the subject.

“You were the one who asked,” Rose reminded. “Do you truly want a real answer as to why?”

Flynn swallowed hard, determined to remain silent.

“I never made a conscious decision about it,” Rose continued seriously. “I suppose I was just made that way. You won’t hear me complaining. I find an emotional connection much easier to form with another man. Physically, it’s quite stimulating as well.”

Flynn snorted loudly and shook his head. The answer struck far too close to his own mind for his comfort. He’d always found himself admiring the physical features of gentlemen far more than those of ladies, seeking out the company of other men rather than women during social gatherings and pining for the easy camaraderie of another man rather than the awkward social intercourse of any woman he’d ever courted. He supposed Rose was right, in a way. That was just the way he’d been made.

“I think you’re more than merely curious. There is purpose to your inquiries,” Rose went on insightfully. Flynn heard his chains clank once more. “Who is the lucky gentleman who has earned himself the honor of your amorous affections?”

Flynn sat up so fast he nearly hit his head on the bottom of the shelf above the cabin’s berth. He flopped back down onto his other side and glared at Rose through the flickering light. Rose had rolled onto his side as well and was looking at Flynn with black eyes that danced in the low light.

“I ain’t got amorous affections for nobody,” Flynn growled determinedly.

“The lady doth protest too much.”

“What?” Flynn demanded.

“It’s Shakespeare, Marshal,” Rose answered.

“Don’t care what it is, you call me a lady again, you’ll be swimming to New Orleans,” Flynn promised. He stood and reached for the hurricane lamp, dousing the flame and throwing the cabin into darkness.

“Come now, Marshal, I’m dying of curiosity,” Rose drawled sarcastically as he watched Flynn move. “Is it some poor stable boy in Lincoln?”

“No,” Flynn gritted as he rolled back onto his back and stared up into the darkness.

“Ranch hand? Mercantile man? Wandering gambler?” Rose prodded.

“I done told you
—
”

“Is it me?” Rose asked with a mischievous smirk.

Flynn shot him a dirty look. “Hell, no,” he answered gruffly.

“It’s the good Marshal Washington, isn’t it?” Rose asked with a grin that was audible in his voice.

Flynn blinked and licked his lips nervously as he lay there, trying desperately to think of something to say and feeling cornered by Rose’s unusual insight into his mind.

“All right, Marshal, if you want to stay quiet, that’s your right,” Rose continued knowingly. “It’s not as if you have yourself an opportunity to ask questions of a man who knows and doesn’t mind to give you answers. I keep a secret quite well too.”

“Shut up,” Flynn ordered hoarsely.

“I dare say he would be receptive to such a thing,” Rose murmured as he rolled onto his back again and placed his hat over his face once more.

Flynn glanced over at him in surprise. “What do you mean?”

“Do sleep well, Marshal Flynn,” Rose drawled quietly.

Chapter 9

C
AGE
lay awake in the cabin’s berth, frowning up at the circle of waning moonlight that was the porthole in their large cabin. Their cabin had come equipped with a double bed, and Wash had insisted they share it rather than utilizing the cot, pointing out that the bed was larger and so was Cage. Cage told himself that it was because the berth was sturdier to chain him to than the cot would have been and that Wash was just being smart rather than kind, but he sort of doubted it. Wash just struck him as that type of man. Cage hadn’t known many truly good-hearted men in his life. He was having trouble reconciling it.

The very distinct sound of something thumping onto the main deck one level below them startled him out of his thoughts and he raised his head, trying to hear.

“Something wrong?” Wash asked from his spot on the other side of the bed.

Cage glanced over at him in the darkness, scowling at him.

“Sorry,” Wash offered abashedly as he rolled up onto his elbow and reached for the hurricane lamp. He turned it, making the shadows in the room dance as the flame grew bigger. “Keep forgettin’ you can’t answer,” he muttered as the flame flickered to life and enabled Cage to be able to see him better. Wash was smiling at him sleepily. “You just got that quiet look about you, anyways.”

Cage sat up in the bed and crossed his legs, frowning as he ducked his head and tried to listen. He pointed to his ear and then pointed again at the window.

“I know you can hear fine, Cage,” Wash murmured as he sat up as well and rubbed at his eyes with the heel of his hand.

Cage shook his head in frustration and sighed.

“What?” Wash asked with a worried frown. He knew he had misunderstood, at least. Most people didn’t even grasp that much. Or care if they did realize it.

Cage made to stand but was stopped with a jerk when the chain that attached his one hand to the wooden slats under the bed halted his progress. He sat back down on the bed with a thump and a grunt.

Wash leaned forward, frowning harder. Cage pointed again at the window, then to his ear once more.

“You heard something?”

Cage nodded.

“What was it?”

Cage winced and shook his head.

“Something out of place?”

Cage frowned and shrugged helplessly. It was hard to say with certainty because of the level of noise from the paddle wheel and the rushing water, and Cage wasn’t exactly accustomed to life on the river in the first place. But he would bet his life on what he thought he’d heard; the heavy landing of someone boarding the steamer. He made a motion with his hands like a man climbing a ladder.

Wash watched him carefully, frowning. “I don’t understand, son,” he said apologetically.

Cage sighed and nodded, lowering his head.

Wash sat in bed for another moment, watching him. Suddenly, he stood, walking around the end of the bed to Cage’s side as he dug in his pocket. Cage watched him in confusion as he came closer and leaned over him. He realized with a bit of shock that Wash was reaching for the chain that bound him to the bed.

He looked up at the marshal questioningly.

“I may not trust Rose as far as I can toss an ox,” Wash murmured to him in answer to the unasked question, “but you don’t deserve to be chained to your damn bed like an outlaw.”

Cage wet his lips and watched as Wash unlocked the cuff and removed it from his hand. He automatically rubbed his sore wrist, looking up at Wash again. He swallowed around an unfamiliar tightness in his throat and mouthed the words “thank you.”

“You’re welcome, son. Just don’t go tellin’ Flynn,” Wash said with a smirk as he turned away.

Cage snorted at him and smiled.

Suddenly there was a ruckus from the lobby outside, banging and shouting up and down the small hallway that served the row of elegant cabins on that level. When the pounding reached their door Cage had already jumped to his feet. Marshal Washington whirled in alarm, his gun out of reach as the door was kicked open and a man stepped in, shotgun leveled at them.

“We’re havin’ a party down yonder,” the stranger drawled from behind a dirty handkerchief tied over his nose and mouth. “Why don’t y’all join us?”

“M
ARSHAL
F
LYNN
,”
Gabriel Rose hissed in the darkness.

Flynn was immediately awake and alert, blinking into the darkness as he tried to locate his prisoner.

“Marshal Flynn,” Rose repeated, his voice a sharp whisper. “You’ve got trouble, Marshal,” he whispered urgently.

Flynn’s gun was in his hand as he peered at the dim circle of light from the porthole of the cabin. Rose’s cot lay directly beneath it, and the moonlight filtering through the mist and clouds was blue on his dark hair as he sat peering at Flynn.

“What?” Flynn demanded of him hoarsely as he eased his thumb off the hammer of his gun.

“The boat just picked up a rowboat of men,” Rose whispered.

Flynn blinked and rubbed at his eyes with his free hand as he lowered his gun. “It’s a passenger boat, Rose, that’s what the hell it does,” he grumbled.

“They didn’t use the landing stages. And I saw a lot of iron in the moonlight, Marshal. I’m telling you,” Rose murmured seriously, “you’ve got a storm coming.”

As if to accentuate his words, a gunshot sounded suddenly from the main level of the boat, followed by a woman’s high-pitched scream of terror. Flynn bounded up and toward the door, but stopped at the last moment and turned to glare at his prisoner. “If this is somehow your doing,” he threatened breathlessly.

“I assure you, Marshal, I don’t have the resources to storm a paddle steamer from my cot,” Rose assured him wryly, but the undertones of alarm and urgency in his voice made Flynn lean toward believing him.

He glanced around the cabin again and licked his lips indecisively as shouts and screams sounded from below.

“They’re after the gold,” Rose asserted calmly, his voice soft but still somehow worrying. “The crates in the hold, that’s why they’re here.”

“Shut up,” Flynn hissed automatically.

He could hear the pounding of heavy footsteps in the corridors of the deck below them. He could hear ladies protesting loudly and gentlemen shouting in outrage over rough treatment.

As he listened, Flynn decided the newcomers were herding all the passengers and crew into a central location, probably the dining salon since it was the largest enclosed area on the paddleboat; easy to defend, hard to escape from. He knew most of the passengers on the boat who were carrying weapons would congregate in the main cabin or the salon at this time of the evening anyway, drinking and playing cards to pass the time. Moving to pen all the passengers in there, where they could be used to keep the more dangerous men in check by simply being in the way, made sense from a tactical point of view.

“They must have a lot of men,” Flynn realized in horror as he thought about the manpower and brashness it would take to round up an entire riverboat full of passengers and crew in the short amount of time that was required to maintain the element of surprise.

“Marshal, you’ve got to think,” Rose urged quietly. He yanked at his irons and they clanked accusingly. “They’ll be coming.”

“Shut up,” Flynn gritted as he opened the door to their cabin and peered out. He wondered if Wash’s cabin had been reached yet. He wondered if Wash had identified himself as a US marshal and been killed by the gunshot they had heard. He wondered if Cage had been telling them lies and really could speak after all, and he wondered if the man had given Wash away. Irrational paranoia and fear assaulted him and he worked hard to push them away and think clearly.