Page 2 of May I Kiss the Bride
The attendant opened his mouth, then closed it again. His gaze locked on the cowboy’s impressive scar. “I need to speak with the conductor.”
The cowboy set his hat upon his head. “You do that, sir.”
The attendant nodded, then took a step back, his throat bobbing up and down. Another step back, then the attendant turned, hands fisted, as he strode off.
People went back to their conversations after the attendant left. Weren’t they bothered that this huge cowboy had sat himself down among them without paying for first-class passage?
A moment passed, then two, and Viola kept her gaze on the passing scenery outside the widow. They were moving through a valley, and the green hills were bright and green in the sunlight beneath the wispy, clouded sky. Oh, how she would miss California. She could only hope that the summer in Wyomingwould speed by, and when she returned home, all the gossip pages would have moved on.
“Ma’am?”
She turned her head at the cowboy’s low rumble.
“Might I store that hatbox for you? It’s a long ways to Wyoming.”
Viola drew it closer. “No, thank you. I don’t want it jostled or stepped on.”
The cowboy’s expression didn’t change, but something shifted in his eyes. Almost imperceptible. Amusement? If he was laughing at her, or thought she was too protective of her hat, then he was an impertinent man.
She rerouted her gaze. She didn’t need to worry. From the reflection in the window, he’d tugged down the brim of his hat, stretched his long legs forward, folded his arms, and promptly fell asleep.
Viola waited a good five minutes before she looked over at him again. How could he fall asleep like a fly knocked out of the air and instantly dropped? His breathing deepened and he might have even been snoring softly. It was hard to make out above the noise of the train.
She released a sigh and returned to her window-watching. As each mile passed, she wondered if it was possible to die of boredom working at a bakery in middle of nowhere-Mayfair. Starting to bake cakes and pies, and mixing bread dough from before sunup sounded like a slow death. Didn’t her mother, or Aunt Beth, for that matter, know that Viola couldn’t cook, or bake, a lick?
She could, she supposed, do things with a lot of instruction. Hopefully, she and Aunt Beth wouldn’t butt heads too much, although one small spark of interest flickered in her mind. What had taken Aunt Beth to Wyoming in the first place? And why was it such a family secret?
REYNOLD CHRISTENSEN WENT BY REY. Sheriff Rey. Or just Rey. Didn’t matter to him. But never by Mr. Christensen, which now interrupted a rather sweet dream he was having about a certain blonde woman who’d just baked him a pie and presented it to him at the town social. He’d been hungry when he boarded the train to Cheyenne, but now he was ravenous. He was just about to slice himself a piece of the still-warm dream pie when someone blurted in his ear “Mr. Christensen!”
This was no dream.
He shoved his hat back and opened his eyes to see not one, but two men in uniform glaring at him. One of them was probably the conductor. The other was the red-faced attendant he hadn’t the pleasure of formally meeting yet.
Rey gave up on his dream of pie and pulled his legs in, straightening to face his visitors.
“If you’ve paid first-class passage, then you can stay here,” the conductor said, his steely gaze quite impressive. “If not, the attendant will escort you to a different car.”
Rey should have known it would come to this; he was just hoping to get a nap in first. He reached into his shirt pocket and drew out a folded and partially crumpled telegram from thegovernor of Wyoming, then handed it over. Rey had only had to read it once to know that he must answer the call, even though it meant cutting his visit short with his mother. He didn’t love leaving his eight-year-old daughter behind in San Francisco, but she’d never forgive him if he ended their vacation so soon.
So, here he was, hopping on this train at the request of the governor.
The conductor’s face had gone chalk white at reading the telegram. “Is this true? And how does the governor know?”
Rey lifted a shoulder. “Received threats, I guess. Might not be this exact train though. Other lawmen are jumping on all trains headed to Cheyenne this week. Your luck is getting me.” He took the paper back, folded it, and tucked it into his pocket. “Now, if you don’t mind, I have sleep to catch up on.”
He thought that tugging down the brim of his hat and closing his eyes would be hint enough, but apparently, the conductor had more questions.
“There’s only one of you?” the conductor said in a near whisper. “If what’s in that telegram is true, we need more than just one lawman to defend—”
Rey snapped his eyes open. “Hush. You want panic from your passengers? Believe me, I can get the job done. Now, you doyourjob, and if—ifthe time comes, I’ll do mine.”
Still, the conductor and the attendant didn’t move.
“Off with you,” Rey muttered. “There’s nothing to worry about until we cross into Wyoming territory. I’ll be wide awake and keeping watch by then.” He motioned toward the windows. “First class has the best view. We might not even have to stop the train.”
Rey kept his voice low so the other passengers wouldn’t overhear—but he knew the woman on the bench across from him clutching that infernal hatbox could hear every word. Toher credit, she kept her gaze averted, focused on the passing landscape.
The conductor’s eyes were wide, but the attendant’s eyes were even wider.
