Love’s Sweet Revenge(178)

O’Reilly shook his hand. “Get well, Sam. You’re a good lawman. Come back stronger than ever.”

“I will, sir.”

At the livery, Sam hired a boy to fetch his bags from the hotel and take them to the station. After settling with the owner and collecting his buckskin gelding, Sam rode to meet the train. He shivered in the cold, steady downpour. The gloomy day reflected his mood as he moved toward an uncertain future. He was on his way home.

To bind up his wounds. To heal. To become the ranger he needed to be.

And he would—come hell or high water, mad as a March hare or not.

Right on time, amid plumes of hissing white steam, the Houston and Texas Central Railway train pulled up next to the loading platform.

Sam quickly loaded Trooper into the livestock car and paid the boy for bringing his bags. After making sure the kerchief around his neck hid his scar, he swung aboard. He had his pick of seats since the passengers had just started to file one. He chose one two strides from the door.

Shrugging from his coat, he sat down and got comfortable.

A movement across the narrow aisle a few minutes later drew his attention, as a tall passenger wearing a low-slung gun belt slid into the seat. Sam studied the black leather vest and frock coat. Gunslinger, bounty hunter, or maybe a gambler? Bounty hunter seemed far-fetched—he’d never seen one dressed in anything as fine. Such men wasted no time with fancy clothing. A gunslinger, then. Few others tied their holster down to their leg. No one else required speed when drawing. Likely a gambler too. Usually the two went hand in hand.

His coloring spoke of Mexican descent. Lines around the traveler’s mouth and a gray hair or two in his dark hair put him somewhere around the near side of thirty. Though he wore his black Stetson low on his forehead, he tugged it even lower as he settled back against the cushion.

The fine hairs on Sam’s arm twitched. He knew this man. But from where? For the life of him, he couldn’t recall. He leaned over. “Pardon me, but have we met?”

Without meeting Sam’s gaze, the man allowed a tight smile. “Nope.”

Darn the hat that bathed his eyes in dusky shadows. “I’m Sam Legend. Name’s not familiar?”

“Nope.”

He’d been so certain the man looked familiar. “Guess I made a mistake.” Maybe his madness had taken over again. Odd that the man hadn’t introduced himself, though.

“Appears so, Ranger.”

How did he know Sam was a ranger? He wore no badge. “My apologies,” Sam mumbled.

The train engineer blew the whistle and the mighty iron wheels began to slowly turn.

Sam swung his attention back to the gunslinger. A few more words, and he’d be able to place him, surely. “Would you have the time, Mr.…?” Sam asked.

“Andrew. Andrew Evan.” The man flipped open his timepiece. “It’s ten forty-five.”

“Obliged.” Finally, a name. Not that it proved helpful. Sam was sure he’d left his real one at the Texas border, as men with something to hide tended to do. By working extra hard trying to make himself invisible, Evan had as much as declared that he had things to conceal.

Worse, the longer Sam sat near Andrew, the stronger the feeling of familiarity grew. And that was something Sam’s brain had not conjured up. He glanced out the window at the passing scenery, trying to make sense of the thoughts clunking around in his head. When he next looked over at Andrew Evan, Sam wasn’t surprised to find the slouching gunslinger’s head against the seat with his hat tilted over his eyes.

The hair on his neck rose. Sam felt Andrew’s eyes watching from beneath the brim of the Stetson. Then he saw a muscle twitch in Andrew’s jaw and watched his Adam’s apple slide slowly up and down.

Tension electrified the air.

As Sam stared at Evan’s hands, searching for the tattoo, a woman rushed down the aisle. She came even with them just as the train took a curve and tumbled headlong into his lap. He found himself holding soft, warm curves encased in dark wool.

Stark fear darkened the blue eyes staring up at him, and her bottom lip quivered.

A jolt went through him. Lucinda? But no—it couldn’t be her. Yet this girl had Lucinda Howard’s black hair and blue eyes framed by thick sooty lashes.

His body responded against his will as he struggled with the memory. Hell! At last, he realized this girl was not the faithless lover he’d once known.

But she was the woman he’d collided with on his way to Ranger headquarters.

“Are you all right, miss?”

“I–I’m so sorry,” she murmured.

He felt her icy hand splayed against his chest through the fabric of his shirt, where it had landed when she tried to break her fall.