Free The Maverick's Bride by Catherine Palmer

hat with one tanned finger. Then, slowly, he brought the hand down and crooked the finger at her, beckoning.
    Emma turned to her sister. “He wants me to go to him, Cissy. But Father will see me there. It’s too great a risk.”
    “He wants you, Emma!” Cissy cried. “Oh, if he were Dirk, I’d go to him at once. I wouldn’t hesitate another moment.”
    Emma looked outside again. Their father stood a few paces from Adam, talking with Nicholas and the stationmaster.
    “I can’t.” She mouthed the words as she shook her head at Adam.
    He frowned. Then he trained his focus on the railcar he had been riding in earlier. Turning to Emma again, he nodded in that direction.
    She slid back against the leather seat and tried to think clearly. Adam wanted to talk to her. But her father would know at once.
    The train whistle blew, and Emma tilted her head to the window. Adam was striding back across the platform, his silver spurs spinning in the afternoon sun.
    “Did you not wish to take a turn about the station, Miss Pickering?” Nicholas asked, resuming his place beside her. His eyes held a warm light as he smiled at her. “It’s more than thirty miles to Tsavo.”
    Emma returned his smile as the train jerked to life and began its swaying rhythm down the track. “I’m fine, thank you, Mr. Bond. How far did we travel to reach Voi?”
    “A little more than a hundred miles. It will be dark before we arrive at Tsavo. The sun sets promptly at six on the equator.”
    Turning away to the window, Emma saw that the flat, dry terrain had begun to change back to thick woods. Tea arrived then, and Emma poured Nicholas a cup. As he sipped, he made another effort at conversation.
    “Has your father told you about our plans for the Nairobi station?”
    “Do tell us, Mr. Bond,” Cissy said.
    “Nairobi is to be headquarters for the railway administration,” he told them. “The site is a high plain, more than three hundred miles from Mombasa. We mean to build roads, bridges, houses, workshops and turntables. We’ll lay in a water supply as well.”
    “Will there be shops?” Cissy asked.
    “We’ll have a regular bazaar, like the one in Mombasa. With new colonists arriving from England, I believe Nairobi may become a real town someday. And when the protectorate is made a colony of the Crown…”
    As he spoke, Emma’s eyes wandered to the pink-tipped foliage and the golden clouds lining the horizon. The sun hung above it, a giant orange ball. Sounds of gentle snoring drifted over the seat. Her father’s snoring.
    “Will you excuse me?” she blurted, rising to her feet and nearly upsetting the tea tray. “I believe I shall take a walk after all.”
    Cissy gave her sister a knowing look, but Emma said nothing as she slid past Nicholas out into the aisle.
    “Miss Pickering, shall I accompany you?” Nicholas stood. “The train’s swaying can be treacherous.”
    “Thank you, Mr. Bond, but I’m quite accustomed to trains. Please carry on with your report on…what was the town you’ve planned?”
    “Nairobi,” Cissy interjected, taking Nicholas by the arm and pulling him back onto the seat. “Yes, do tell me more of your plans for Nairobi. Such clever ideas.”
    Emma gave her sister a grateful smile and hurried down the aisle. She glanced back once, but all she could see was Cissy’s bobbing ostrich plumes and her father’s top hat.
    Pushing open the door to the outside of the railcar, she stepped onto a shuddering platform. A firm grip on the iron railing helped her balance as she worked her way between the cars. She held her breath against the soot-filled air, opened the second door and stepped inside.
    Far more shabbily outfitted than the other car, this one was filled with cargo. Boxes and crates cluttered the seats and partially blocked the aisle, making her path difficult. She picked her way past bales of cloth, chests carved from camphor wood, folded cots, rickety chairs and rough-hewn tables. These must be the