Free The Maverick's Bride by Catherine Palmer Page A

new colonists’ possessions. It would not be easy to live in this land, she thought as she reached the far end of the car, turned the door handle and stepped outside onto the next platform.
    Again steadying herself against the iron railing, she tugged open the door to the next car. The sight that met her eyes forced out a sharp gasp. Foggy with tobacco smoke, the car was a jumble of broken bottles, top hats lying askew on the floor, button boots, umbrellas and morning coats. Sleeping men of every description sprawled on the seats. Others sat in groups, tossing playing cards onto tables. Over all, the smell of stale cigars and liquor filled the car while a strange plinking music drifted through the air.
    Emma searched the car until she spotted Adam King perched on the tall back of a berth, a guitar resting on one thigh. He gazed out the window, his expression distant. Nowand then he strummed the instrument, humming along with the chords.
    “I say, sir!” One of the men lifted a glass of ale into the air. “Have a drink and see if you can find something a bit more lively in that box of yours.”
    “Don’t you cowboy chaps know any spirited songs?” another called out.
    Adam waved off the proffered drink. “I reckon this is about all I’m good for this evening.”
    As he spoke, his eye fell on Emma. His expression brightened at once. Standing, he quickly covered the space between them. Emma stepped back onto the outside platform and Adam shut the door behind them.
    “I’m glad you came,” he said over the clatter of the wheels beneath them. He still held his guitar, and the platform allowed barely enough space for them to stand.
    The setting sun filtered through the sooty air, and Emma sensed a raw, animal strength in the man who towered before her. He had rolled his sleeves to the elbow and loosened the buttons at his collar.
    “Shall we go into the baggage car?” she shouted, motioning behind her.
    For a moment, Adam said nothing. Emma feared—and hoped—he might take her in his arms again, holding her close as he had done before. Her breath shortened as she looked into his indigo eyes. He reached across her shoulder, his hand grazing the soft fabric of her sleeve, and pushed open the door.
    Heat creeping into her cheeks, Emma slipped into the baggage car. Adam set his guitar on a wooden bench and turned to her. Before she had time to protest, his hands circled her waist and he lifted her gently onto a crate. He eased his large frame up beside her.
    “Where’s your father?” he asked in a low voice.
    “Asleep. Only a nap, I’m sure.”
    “Your determination conquered your fear. I like that in you, Emma.”
    Trying to still her fluttering heart, she smoothed the folds of her skirt before answering. “You must know it’s quite irregular, sir.”
    The corner of his mouth turned up. “Are you always this proper, Miss Pickering?”
    She looked away, doubting for the first time all the careful instruction in etiquette her governesses had imparted. “I am as proper as I can be, Mr. King. I was taught to be courteous to everyone. Especially to gentlemen who are my briefest acquaintances.”
    “I see.” Adam tried without success to suppress a chuckle. “All right, ma’am, I need to talk to you about two things.”
    “Two?”
    “This morning when I went to the consulate I only had one. Now I have two.”
    At that, Emma covered her cheek with her palm and turned away. But Adam’s hand closed around hers to draw her focus back to him. He ran his fingertips down her cheek and over her lower lip, and she closed her eyes, shivering at the sensation that raced through her stomach.
    “Emma, look at me,” he said.
    She opened her eyes as he cupped the curve of her jaw in his palm and stroked her cheek with his thumb.
    “This morning, I’d have stayed with you.” His eyes blazed with a blue fire. “If you say the word, I’ll put him in his place. He’ll never touch you again. I swear it.”
    “Please,