According to Hoyle (16 page)

“Was it a good one?” Flynn asked, not particularly feeling sorry for the man.

“It was a Howard,” Rose answered with a nod, patting the other pockets and frowning. “My grandfather’s.”

Flynn was surprised that he looked genuinely upset. He hadn’t thought the man capable of true, honest to God feelings.

“Will you check the bottom of the bag?” Rose requested as Flynn pondered him.

Flynn narrowed his eyes suspiciously, but bent back over the bag to rummage around the loose things at the bottom. He shook his head when he found nothing that felt like a pocket watch.

Rose sighed and his shoulders slumped. Flynn again had the fleeting impression that he might actually harbor real emotions under all his charisma, that he just hid it all away under an infuriating smile.

“Well. Nothing to do about it now, I suppose,” Rose murmured as he adjusted the jacket and smoothed it over.

Flynn shrugged into his own jacket and fixed his collar, then stared at Rose almost sympathetically for a moment. “Come here,” he muttered as he stepped forward and took hold of Rose’s necktie. He adjusted it and tied it tighter, straightening it and fixing it with just one glance up to look into Rose’s eyes. He stepped back when he was done and nodded in approval.

“Thank you, Marshal,” Rose murmured in genuine surprise. He stood with his hat in his hands, and he frowned down at it thoughtfully. The dog had brought it to him just before they had reached the gangplank to board the ship after their trip to the Emporium. After being crushed and thrown out the hotel window, then carried all around town in the dog’s mouth, the battered bowler had definitely seen better days.

The dog had sat and watched them board the ship as if merely waiting for the business to be over. He hadn’t looked confused or upset to see his master leaving him. He had looked distinctly like he was just doing what he had been told, like he was following some pre-arranged plan. The dog, Flynn had realized, bothered him even more than the man did.

“Perhaps I would do better to go without my hat tonight,” Rose murmured as he finally looked up at Flynn and held the hat up for inspection.

Flynn looked down at the bowler hat, then back up at Rose dubiously. “Good call,” he agreed. “You look fine,” he offered charitably with a nod at the door. “Let’s go.”

They walked side by side down the breezy outer deck toward the grand staircase, Flynn’s hand discreetly resting on his gun the entire way. To his surprise, Rose in no way tried to draw attention to himself as they moved through the sparse crowd. He noticed the man keeping his head down and touching his finger nervously to his hairline, as if wanting to find a hat there. It hit Flynn suddenly that Rose was used to hiding his face in crowds, and that he was probably afraid of being recognized. Perhaps leaving the hat behind hadn’t been such a good idea after all.

“You’re looking a might all-overish there, Rose,” Flynn murmured to him as the brisk wind off the river caught at their clothing and tugged at the tails of their jackets. Flynn stopped and took in a deep breath of the river air. It wasn’t exactly a pleasant smell.

“I don’t like crowds, Marshal,” Rose responded irritably. He sniffed at the air and winced. “Ah, the aroma of river mud.”

Flynn nodded and smirked. They turned around the curved bow of the ship and headed down the grand staircase, which fed them right into the luxurious main cabin. It was a beautiful boat, with all the luxuries you could want while traveling down the river. Flynn wished they could take the riverboat back to St. Louis on the return trip, just him and Wash together. It would be quite a treat to experience all this with his friend instead of the annoying outlaw he was escorting.

They cut through the small groups of milling, chatting people. The ladies and children, what few there were, were all impeccably dressed and done up, flounces and lace and umbrellas galore. Every one of them could have been going to the highest of society functions. The men were a different matter altogether. Some were dressed in fancy clothes, like Rose. Others wore a more traditional, less impressive suit, like Flynn. And some of the men were in working clothes, still dusty from the trails as they chatted politely with the womenfolk. It was a typical scene, one Flynn had heard many a tenderfoot remark on. Apparently, west of the Mississippi was the only place a man wasn’t judged by his clothes alone.

Even knowing this, Flynn was glad they had thought to outfit Cage in more traditional clothing. He knew the homemade oilskin would have looked too close to a savage’s attire for the comfort of the inexperienced or uninformed passengers. The days of the mountain men were long gone. It would have drawn far too much attention to their group for Flynn’s peace of mind.

As Flynn observed their fellow passengers, a man passed by them and bumped hard into Rose’s shoulder, sending him off balance and falling into Flynn. Flynn’s hand tightened on his gun unconsciously, immediately thinking it a ploy of Rose’s to once again try to escape. But Rose merely righted himself with a hand on Flynn’s shoulder and turned to the man who’d nearly knocked him over.

“Pardon me,” Rose offered politely to the man, who went on his way with only a cursory glance at Rose. Rose turned back to Flynn and shrugged. “Ruffians,” he said with sarcastic relish.

Flynn watched the man go, then glanced at Rose and shrugged as well. “Some of these folks been drinking since they boarded. Might do well to stay to the shadows, hmm?”

“For once we agree,” Rose murmured as he looked around uncomfortably.

Flynn caught sight of Wash and Cage standing at the entrance to the dining salon behind the base of the grand stairs, waiting for them, and he discreetly took Rose’s elbow and led him onward.

He smiled at Wash as they approached and received one of Wash’s crooked grins in return. He was again struck by how well Wash cleaned up, and by what a good-looking man Cage had turned out to be. He immediately pushed back the thoughts and cleared his throat uncomfortably as they drew closer.

The two marshals and their prisoners converged at the entrance to the salon, and Flynn could hear the laughter, chatter and music playing from within.

“Shall we?” Wash asked cheerfully.

“I want it understood,” Flynn said to the two prisoners sternly. “The first sign of trouble and you’re being dragged out of there unconscious. Got it?”

Rose and Cage both nodded obediently. Cage was wearing one of the new hats he’d purchased in St. Louis, but he was holding the second one Flynn had told him to buy. He lifted it to show Flynn that the hat was the only thing in his hands, then he held it out to Rose carefully. Rose took it, and the two men shared a significant look and warm smiles as Rose slid the gray hat onto his head with a nod of thanks.

Flynn gave them both one last look over and then nodded for them to head into the salon. If this went smoothly, Flynn would have to start attending church regularly again.

Chapter 8

C
AGE
and the others stepped into the dining salon and Cage looked around uneasily. The place wasn’t overly crowded, but it was busier than he’d expected it to be at such an early hour. He supposed there wasn’t much else to keep passengers entertained on the steamer, though. He hesitated, slowing until Flynn was at his back. He didn’t know if the marshals would decide to leave and come back later or go on with dinner now. Cage could feel how tense Flynn was in the chaotic atmosphere, and so he stuck close to him, hoping to reassure him that he didn’t intend to try and escape. Edgy lawmen with loaded guns were just as dangerous as cornered criminals.

Cage didn’t plan on running now. It was too hard on the nerves, for one. But he trusted in Gabriel to have a plan, and he was going to stick around to see how it turned out. If it worked and they somehow got out of this legal mess unscathed, then Cage thought maybe they had a chance at something worth risking it for. The few moments they’d been able to steal together had felt special. If it didn’t work, then the aftermath would at least be entertaining to watch.

The tables were lined up down the center of the room, with the ornate and polished stove off to the left and a bar lining the right wall. No one got to sit with their backs against the walls on a riverboat. Even with the gilded mirrors lining the salon, Cage shifted nervously in his seat, not liking the feeling of his back exposed to the large room and the crowd of strangers coming and going in it. Beside him, Gabriel seemed calm, but Cage could see his head turning every so often as his eyes darted to check behind him.

“This should prove to be charming,” Gabriel murmured to him.

Cage smiled. They weren’t restrained, at least. He held up his hands and laced his fingers together, setting his joined fists on the table in front of him.

Gabriel smiled at him, watching him sideways. “I agree,” he said with a smirk. “A shame we can’t make better use of our newfound freedom,” he added.

Cage turned his head, looking at Gabriel carefully as a dull, slow heat began to bloom inside him. Just the prospect of being alone with him was exciting.

“Enough of that,” Flynn said sternly.

“He wasn’t talking about escaping, Flynn,” Wash informed Flynn under his breath.

Cage tried not to smile at the scandalized look on Flynn’s face as he realized what Gabriel had really meant. Gabriel did laugh, and Cage blushed as he looked away. He took his hands from the table, placing them on his knees to keep from fidgeting.

While Gabriel lightly poked fun at Flynn, Cage used the opportunity to study him, to truly look at him and ponder him. He couldn’t explain the almost instant feelings he’d developed for the man. He didn’t really want to try, because deep down he feared they might not be real. He wanted them to be real, he knew that much, and he figured if he left them alone long enough, they’d be real eventually. If they had time before a hangman’s noose caught one or both of them. And if they weren’t real already.

Cage closed his eyes and cleared his throat, telling himself not to let his mind wander. He was surprised when Gabriel’s hand found his under the table, his fingers sliding over Cage’s and then closing around his palm. Cage’s head jerked up, and he looked at Gabriel with wide eyes, taken aback by the warmth that continued to spread through him at the simple touch.

Gabriel was watching him, smiling almost serenely. He winked when Cage met his eyes. Cage wondered about the expression on his face. He frowned questioningly, but Gabriel just squeezed his hand and continued to hold it under the table. Cage got the message. Soon, Gabriel was saying.

Cage nodded and sat back in his seat. He’d never been a nervous person or a worrier, but if he chose to be any sort of companion to Gabriel Rose, he could see himself becoming a nervous wreck very quickly.

He met Gabriel’s eyes again and his lips twitched into a smile. It would probably be worth it.

D
INNER
was surprisingly civil, very nearly enjoyable. Flynn found himself distracted much of the meal by worrying about Rose’s hands beneath the table, but he kept telling himself there was no way the man could have obtained a weapon, and if he had one, he would have used it by now.

It wasn’t until the salon was beginning to truly fill up and they were leaving to get some fresh air before returning to their cabins that trouble presented itself. They left the salon through one of the ornate doorways toward the bow that led out to the foredeck, enjoying the cool evening air that flowed over and around the deck. Flynn had just taken hold of Rose’s elbow to make certain he didn’t lose him in the crowd when Wash stopped him.

“Hey, Flynn,” Wash muttered, pulling them over to the side, out of the way of the diners coming and going. “What say we give them some more time to themselves?” he asked, his voice a bare whisper. Rose and Cage stood just steps away, both their heads bowed as they tried to appear like they weren’t eavesdropping.

“Time alone?” Flynn asked incredulously. “You mean like before, when they tried to escape?”

“Where are they gonna go?” Wash posed, his voice even. “What’s the harm in clearing one of the cabins and letting them have an hour or two?”

Flynn closed his eyes and shook his head, not even able to fathom what Wash was thinking.

“Put yourself in their shoes a minute,” Wash urged, but Flynn continued to shake his head in disbelief.

“Our responsibility is to get them to New Orleans for trial, not make sure they’re happy when they get there. You know what they’d do with those two hours and I for one do not plan to sit in a hallway and guard a cabin while that goes on.”

“Why not?”

“Wash, really!”

“Dusty Rose!” a voice shouted suddenly from behind them.

Flynn turned and saw a man standing near the outer railing of the boat, the same man who had bumped into Rose before dinner. His coat was pushed back over his low-slung holster and his legs were spread slightly apart. There was no mistaking that stance, nor the challenge he had called. Every greenhorn and tinstar in the country thought that every gun battle went down like Hickok and Tutt in the town square in ’65. But calling a man out was a good way to get killed. Flynn’s heart skipped a beat and his breath caught as the world slowed around him.