Holm, Stef Ann (18 page)

Then
she went back to her seat, where she took slow, deep breaths to calm herself.
She remained gazing out the window as the train began to roll again.

Cub
had passed the word that the high jinks had been a success. It was probably a
good thing it was over: all that opening and closing the john door had loosened
the screws on the door's handle, so the next man in who had to use it for real
had better be careful not to lock himself inside.

Three
hours after the first flush, Captain awoke and was now chewing on a sandwich a
waiter doled out for a few cents.

"When
are we going back to Harmony?" he asked again. "I've got to be at
work."

"I
thought you wanted to come with me," Alex replied.

"I
thought so, too. But I don't want to lose my job at Plunkett's. I like it. I
like having Hildegarde back."

Alex
rotated his ankles in an attempt to stimulate the circulation blood, the lack
of which had numbed his feet. "Mr. Plunkett said you could take some days
off. We'll be going back home soon."

"When?"

"In
about two weeks."

"How
many days is that?"

"Fourteen."

"Spell
that."

He
did, and Cap recited the letters a few times.

Alex
continued to monitor Camille's every move, every gesture. A lift of her hand to
her lips, her fingers brushing them in thought. Slow sweeps of her lashes. An
adjustment of her collar, then an absent graze of the button at her throat.
With each little motion she made, he felt his body stir, until he had to stand
and look at some different scenery.

Alex
walked down the aisle and tapped Charlie on the shoulder. "Have an extra
smoke?"

"Yeah,
sure."

Hiding
the cigarette and match in his hand, Alex glanced at Cap. Cap would give him
hell for smoking again; he hated cigarettes. So Alex headed for the vestibule
to light up in private. Once at the door, he glimpsed the lovebirds sharing a
newlywed kiss. Damn.

He
wasn't about to go another minute without smoking this cigarette, so he went
inside the comfort station and gently closed the door so as not to pop the
screw on the lock. It was a cramped closet barely three feet square with a
slash of a window that had been left open. A washbasin with nickel fixtures and
zinc floor were about the only things that spruced it up. Above the sink words
had been emblazoned in a big sign:

Warning!

A
water closet flushed at the wrong moment could upset the pneumatic balance of
the Westinghouse system. Do not operate it while train is on curve.

Alex
had no intentions of flushing the john, curve or not.

Striking
the match against the frame of the door, he brought the flame to the end of his
cigarette. Then drew in a cloud of heaven into his lungs. He casually lounged
against the edge of the sink. He meant to enjoy every last puff.

Christ,
it had been much too long.

* * * * *

Camille
paid the waiter several coins for a raspberry jelly sandwich wrapped in wax
paper. She'd save the meal for later; she wasn't hungry now. All that horseplay
with the water closet. Whatever had gotten into the players sorely disappointed
her. She'd thought better of them. She'd actually thought they had begun to
accept her position. Their apparent about-face nicked her feelings.

Well,
if she were being truly honest, she had to admit they'd never really warmed up
to her, not in the way she'd hoped. Although there had been those moments when
she thought they'd shared a smile or two. Maybe they'd been laughing at her. If
that were the case...

She
shook off the thought. No sense in making herself crazy about it. They had just
under a day left of travel. They'd check into a hotel and get ready for their
game against the Philadelphia Athletics. There was no time to doubt her
abilities.

She
scanned the seats in front of her, where several of the players were occupied
with a game of cards. Then she looked a little to her left, and lastly over her
shoulder. Captain sat alone. Camille frowned. She looked at the players once
more and began to count them off. One, two, three... six, seven... twelve. One
was missing.

Since
she hadn't seen Alex leave through the front car, he had to have gone out
through the back—if he'd left at all. That meant only one other place he could
be. She chilled at the thought.

Quickly,
she rose and went to Specs, who sat in the last row of the car with Cupid
Burns. She'd thought Specs had been an advocate of hers, but clearly she'd been
mistaken. She had to make sure the prank didn't happen again. If it did, they
were going to get thrown off the train. And how would she explain
that
to
her father? Being cast adrift meant inconvenience, and even more than that, not
getting to Philadelphia on time. They'd miss the game. She'd be in big trouble.

"Mr.
Ryan," she said to Specs, "where is Mr. Cordova?"

Specs
lifted his brows as if he really wasn't sure. "I don't know."

She
moved her gaze to Cupid. "Have you seen him?"

Cupid's
eyes darted to the water closet, then his Adam's apple wobbled up and down the
front of his neck when he spoke. "I saw him going into the—"

She
didn't wait to hear the rest. She turned on a fast heel. She never should have
bought that sandwich and grown distracted. While she'd been paying for her
meal, Alex had snuck into the water closet. She couldn't let him do anything to
get them bounced from the train.

At
the door in an instant, she frantically knocked on the wood panel. Her gloves
muffled her rapping. "Mr. Cordova, I want you to exit the facility
immediately."

No
answer.

She
knocked again. Urgently.

The
train swayed and rocked, careening toward a curve on the rails. She could feel
it beneath her feet. She jarred a little to the right and had to put her arm
out against the wall. Her pulse danced. Her mind spun with the consequences.
Panic swept through her.

"Mr.
Cordova, what are you doing in there?"

She
knocked harder.

When
he finally answered, his voice was dry and deliberate. "Come in and see
for yourself."

She
was left with no choice but to grip the knob and swing the door open. The
moment she did, the train rounded a bend and the door swung closed on her
behind, shoving her headlong into the tiny, smoke-filled cubicle. The next
thing she knew, she was pressed up against Alex, breasts to chest. No room to
move an inch.

The
oil-burning globe lamp didn't give off a lot of light from its position over
the washbasin. She looked into Alex's face, her hands on his chest—the only
thing to brace her fall. She was a tall woman, but he was much taller. Without
his Stetson, his ink black hair fell in a tumble over his forehead as he gazed
down at her.

"You
miss me?" His voice sounded deeper, richer in the small space.

"That's
not it at all. I'm checking on you."

"Nobody's
checked on me in the john since I was two and learned to pee standing up. So
what did you really want?"

Camille
felt her cheeks heat hotter than a cast-iron skillet. "I thought you might
be fl—" She stopped midsentence. "I just thought you might be up to
no good."

He
smiled suggestively. "I am up to no good."

That
he'd admit it struck a chord in her. "Thank you, Mr. Cordova, for nothing.
I thought you were above this kind of foolery."

"Don't
get a twist in your petticoats, honey. I was only smoking."

"Smoking?"

"Captain
doesn't like it and I didn't want to get him excited."

"Really?"
Curls of tobacco smoke did fill the space. She had noticed it before but had
put the thought out of her mind. Just the same, she questioned, "You're
quite certain that's all you planned to do in here?"

A
slow, disarming smile curved his lips. "Not unless the urge hit me to do
something else."

Unbidden,
a blush stained her cheeks.

Now
that the matter of what he was doing in here had been cleared up, she was
conscious of every place on her body where Alex touched her, especially the
hard cords of muscle in his thighs that were separated from her own thighs by
only the pleats of her skirt.
Fillin
g out a worn-soft cotton shirt, his
wide shoulders seemed even wider in the small space. She noted his shirt didn't
have a collar—just a simple band in pale blue to match the pale blue of the
shirt itself. She had the strangest urge to touch the base of his throat, where
the pearl buttons fastened the top of his shirts. Alex seemed so warm. So...

"Uh,
Miss Kennison..." Specs said through the door.

She
almost forgot that there were over a dozen people outside the door. All of whom
knew that she and Alex were in the comfort station. Alone.

"We
have to ask for help," she whispered, unable to trust her voice. A
tingling worked its way into the pit of her stomach and was creeping over her
skin and making her feel lightheaded. "Don't you see how compromising this
looks?"

"All
I can see is the faint light in your eyes, part of your lips"—his face had
come very close to hers as he spoke—"and the handle on that door
missing."

With
that, she all but stammered, "What?" She turned as best as she could
to see that the handle was indeed missing. There was a small hole where the
locking mechanism was supposed to go, but there was no handle.

"The
screws got knocked out when you slammed the door."

"I
didn't slam the door. It slammed me."

"However
you want to look at it." He slipped his arm around her waist and drew her
tightly next to him. His breath was warm against the side of her neck. "I
don't care how you got in here. And now that you are..."

She
pushed at his shoulders, knowing exactly what he was going to do. But the push
had about as much strength to it as a shadow when his mouth covered hers. Her
heart pounded, and as much as she wanted to tell him no, she couldn't. The
light brush of his mouth brought a current of pleasure through her. Just as
intense, if not more so, than the time he'd kissed her in the buggy.

Her
reaction to him shocked her. She should have had better sense. A chaotic
dizziness grabbed her, and in turn, she grabbed onto Alex. He slid his hard
fingers around the nape of her neck and pulled her closer. His tongue slid over
the seam of her mouth, tracing her lower hp, then deepening the kiss in a way
she had never experienced.

His
tongue slipped inside her mouth. Something turned over inside her that was a
mixture of surprise and anticipation that this was only part of how he could
make her feel. Only part of what he could do to her to make her melt beside
him. Already, she felt the heat of him through her clothes. Almost searing. For
a startling moment, she wondered what it would be like to kiss him this way
with no clothes between them. Just skin next to skin, warm and hard, every
contour of his body exposed to her where she could see its definition, feel
every curve and supple muscle.

She
thought she might swoon.

Never
in her life had she fainted, and she wasn't about to start now.

But
his kiss snatched her breath. It was a delicious fusing of his lips over hers.
His tongue swept through her mouth, teasing her tongue to meet his. She dared
to, slowly, hesitantly. As she relaxed, his hand cupped her buttocks, bringing
her sinfully close to him. But she didn't stop him.

This
was madness.

"Miss
Kennison... we can't find the screws to the handle."

The
words barely registered. The train reeled and careened over the tracks, much
like her heart was beating. Insanity. If the door opened right now, she could
forget about everything. Her job. Her reputation.

Alex's
hands drifted to the sides of her neck, then higher. "I want to take off
your hat."

Breathlessly,
she answered next to his mouth. "You can't."

"I
will one day."

The
way he said it, so certain and with a sense of inevitability, made the knot in
her stomach tighten even more. She fought to come to her senses and break
away—not that there was anyplace to go—but enough to say something she should
have said moments ago.

"Hurry
up!" she cried.

"Doc
just found one screw, Miss Kennison," Specs called.

"And
I got the other one," came a reply a few seconds later—Charlie must have
come up to the door.

Camille
forced her breathing to resume its normal state, averting her gaze from Alex's.
She felt him looking at her, drinking her in with his eyes. He had no right to
make her weak just by a mere glance, a mere caress with those warm brown eyes
of his.

In
what seemed to take an eternity, the door handle was reassembled and the door
opened. Camille practically tumbled out of the room. Freedom. Why, then, did
she feel so imprisoned by her own emotions? She didn't dare look back at Alex.
She couldn't risk his knowing that she was feeling something for him.