The Gamble

  The Gamble

  Karen Sommers

  Copyright © 2018 by Karen Sommers

  All rights reserved.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Free Copy of “A Duke’s Revenge”

  Chapter 1

  The way the train shook should have been soothing. Margrett had been told it would be. It wasn’t. She’d been on it long enough, all the way from Boston to the Arizona Territories, several days of jostling and sleeping in a compartment little larger than a coffin.

  It was the last day of her journey, the endless plains of Kansas had given way to desert and striking rock formations until even those were fading as the train slowed, and began to climb a long, steep ascent. Margrett rose early, fascinated by the change of scenery, always so different from what it had been the night before. A helpful porter let her know they’d reach Flagstaff shortly after breakfast, escorting her the dining car and taking her coin for his service with a smile and half bow. She carried her satchel primly, thankful not to have to pass through the observation car alone. Granted, this end of the train housed passengers of a higher caliber than that of the cheaper coaches she’d glimpsed only briefly on her excursions outside to catch some fresh air at various stops along the route. Even here though, she was conscious of the eyes that followed her progress, the eyes that noted the worn valise tucked under her arm. In the last week, she’d never once let go of the faded and cracked leather straps. Her future was literally stuffed into the bag.

  Even after days of traveling, Margrett marveled at the idea of eating hot food on a train car. The Pullman company had truly outdone itself with this fairly recent addition to it’s line. Her choice of dining companions, though, had steadily declined during the journey. From Boston to Chicago, there had been a handful of ladies and several gentlemen with whom Margrett could have a repast and enjoy fine conversation, but the further west she traveled, the further she had to lower her expectations. Here, so close to the end of civilization and piercing the border of the true wild west, there were few empty places available for a young unescorted lady of breeding and stature, despite the extravagant expense of being able to eat on board the train.

  With a small sigh, she considered her options.

  Two men, for she couldn’t in good conscience consider them to be anything remotely resembling gentlemen, sat downing coffee and treating the train’s fine china like so much pressed tin just inside the doorway.

  “Hello, little lady.” The one nearest her looked up with a grin beneath his grizzled whiskers. “If’n you’re looking for a place to squat, we gots a free chair.”

  “Yeaup.” The other smiled big, revealing blackened teeth and large gaps where teeth might once have been. “A purty little thing like you shouldn’t aught to be eatin’ alone.”

  Coughing down a reflex action and protesting prettily, Margrett excused herself, moving hurriedly past. Somewhere in the crowded car, there had to be a better option than these…reprobates.

  “You don’ scared her away, you igoratmus,” the first one said as she passed.

  “Ignoramus,” she corrected automatically, pausing only to catch herself on a chair as the train rocked violently around a curve.

  “Cain’t ignore ‘im.” the second one said, “He’s my brother. And his name’s Clyde, not Amos!”

  They both considered this the height of grand humor and congratulated each other on their brilliant quips. Margrett pressed on, holding the satchel tighter.

  There was an empty table near the other end of the car, and she worked her way through the rough men, wondering at their wealth to afford breakfast, wondering if perhaps these were miners. She found herself peeking at tables, wondering if she’d see someone pay with an actual nugget of silver or gold before she caught herself, flushing with embarrassment to be caught up in such fantastic imaginings.

  A good thing she’d started paying better attention to her surroundings. A collision was imminent with a man who had just come into the car from the door on the far side. A tall, strong man with dark hair and a thick mustache. He wore a clean suit and if the style was slightly out of date, it was certainly a very expensive cut. He paused, taking in the car much as she had and for a moment she wondered if he’d take that empty table she’d had her eye on, only he moved past, apparently searching out someone.

  As he drew near her eyes went to the gun belt on his hip and caught her breath. Since yesterday she’d seen some men wearing the things on the train platform, but never one so close.

  It is the untamed west, after all…

  Men wore such things as though they had a tool strapped to their hip, no different than if a carpenter slung a hammer or a blacksmith lay a pair of tongs at his belt, she reminded herself. But this man wore it…differently, it seemed. Like it was a part of him. His face was lined, though his eyes seemed as youthful as her own. This was a face carved from sun and wind and open spaces. He would be more at home on a horse than a lavish first-class dining car, she suspected. He moved as if he owned the place as he waved to a gentleman who was seated at a table just behind her. They were at an impasse, after all, trying to discern how to get around one another in such a confined space. He tipped his hat to her as he gallantly pressed himself against a table, gesturing for her to go around.

  “’Morning, Ma’am”

  His voice sounded like rich whiskey and warm fires on a chilly morning. She schooled herself sternly. Still, it would not do to alienate herself from the locals, not if she planned to depend on their good graces. “Good morning, sir,” she said and gave a brief little curtsey, enjoying the exchange of pleasantries, so refreshing after the encounter only moments before with such rough denizens. Sadly, the train turned what should have been a display of good manners into a pratfall comedy, for at that exact moment, the train jumped under her feet and she lost balance, changing from a brief dip into a headlong collision with the gentleman in question.

  He caught her without hesitation, but his hands took certain liberties that caused Margrett to catch her breath. Fingertips brushed her hip as he righted her, sending sudden, confusing flames of awareness shooting through her body. Flustered, she stepped backward, grabbing at the satchel she’d nearly dropped, and would have forgotten had his hand lingered another second.

  But those eyes that looked at her with such concern…it was the eyes that stayed with her as he offered a hand this time, to ease her passage, in a move that would have put her dancing master to shame. In a moment she was beyond him, safe and secure, and the hand upon her…nether regions…was only a regretful memory.

  “I thank you for your assistance, sir,” she said, struggling to find a smile when it felt like she couldn’t breathe. A momentary lapse. Silly girl. It’s because you have not entertained gentlemen callers in at least a year and have forgotten how…reassuring…a masculine hand could feel.

  Yet even those callers had never been so bold…

  Her face flushed. It had been an accident, one he most likely had not so much as noticed, it had been so brief.

  “Entirely my pleasure, I can assure you.”

  He still held her hand though, as if he too were enjoying the dalliance of fingers linked in unspoken intimacy. Yet those eyes, so blue, still stared
into her own and it took great strength of will to clear her throat and speak again. “I thank you for your quick action, but as the train has righted itself, perhaps you could let go of me now.”

  “I do so with great reluctance, Ma’am.” He smiled a boyish impish grin, and slowly dropped his hand, only to raise it a moment later to tip his hat before joining his friend at the table.

  With a stoic resolve to let the incident go, Margrett turned her attention to her own table by the door. Or at least what should have been her table.

  Somehow, in the space of time it had taken to become entranced with one stranger, quite another one had taken her spot. She stared in consternation as a dandified gentlemen picked up a menu with long elegant fingers.

  Behind her, the uncouth duo set to howling. “Hey missy, we still have a place for you’n at our table!”

  It was enough to make a body cry. Or at the very least consider finishing out the trip hungry.

  So now what?

  Chapter 2

  As if sensing Margrett’s predicament, the table thief raised his head and met her gaze. With one hand he gestured at the empty space across from him. A moment of indecision, followed by a slight nod on her part secured the space. He rose as she approached, holding out her seat.

  Perhaps this gentleman was not as rough as his compatriots. He certainly had no gun belt to show off, nor strange western hat. In fact, she detected a glimpse of ruffle in his sleeve and noted he smelled vaguely of lilac as he stepped in to assist her with her bag. She waved him off, settling it on the floor next to her seat with a smile, arranging her skirts so that it would be hidden from view, though she felt its comfortable weight resting upon her foot.

  “Good morning, miss. J.Harmen, at your service.” he said, as he seated himself again, offering a hand for her to shake in what she was coming to think of as ‘Western Manners.’ Somewhat amused, she took it, accepting his introduction without giving her own, having been coached by her family to beware of becoming too familiar with strangers in her travels.

  This gentleman, however, could have walked out of any fine establishment in Boston or New York. His teeth were white and straight, and his hair was neatly combed. Even his nails were clean and neatly trimmed, as were his manners.

  Margrett wondered momentarily why she felt so hesitant when her only other option was the cretins seated at the other end of the train, no doubt rubbernecking about her current dining situation with full commentary.

  “Please,” Mr. Harmen said and smiled. “Allow me to make up for my crass fellow citizens…” He nodded behind her, and for a moment she felt disoriented, thinking he perhaps indicated the man she had so recently encountered. Whoever he indicated, apparently there was an acquaintance between them, one founded, at least by this man, on extreme dislike. “…by allowing me to purchase your breakfast. I have been on this line many times, and they do make a wondrous omelet.”

  Somewhat distracted by the mention of food, Margrett almost licked her lips before catching herself. Money wasn’t an issue, not really. All she had belonged to the Lady’s Betterment League but they wouldn’t begrudge her meals in moderation. She had more than enough for her purposes. Still, the gentleman did look…hopeful… and finding a civilized man in the territories was a rarity. It wouldn’t do to offend him. She glanced around the car, wondering whether other lady travelers allowed their dining companions to buy them breakfast, and caught herself looking longingly at the man she’d just passed when she realized that in fact, she was the only lady present. She colored slightly and returned her eyes to her own dining companion somewhat at a loss.

  “Very well, Mr. Harmen,” she said, nodding once as she quickly made a decision. What was the point in quibbling things that worked out to her benefit? “I accept your apology, though it really isn’t necessary, and your invitation to enjoy breakfast as your guest.” She reached gamely for the menu, and a porter appeared as if by magic.

  Mr. Harmen laid a hand over hers, taking the menu before she had read a single word. “The young lady will have your omelet and tea, while I will have scrambled eggs and coffee.” Mr. Harmen said and waved the man away.

  “I would prefer coffee to tea, if you don’t mind,” Margrett called out, annoyed that he’d ordered for her without so much as a by your leave. A shadow crossed over Mr. Harmen’s face, and she dropped her eyes, but not before feeling her own small surge of triumph at getting her way. Maybe I imagined that…But even so, he was terribly high-handed. Even for a Westerner.

  “I don’t believe I caught your name, Miss…” he said, all smiles and grace as he unfolded his napkin with a wave of his hand, as though throwing down a white flag. He smoothed it over one leg and looked at her expectantly.

  “Margrett Childs,” she said finally, displeased that he asked after she’d pointedly not offered this information. “Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

  I truly should have skipped dining altogether…

  “Tell me something, Margrett Childs, what brings a young woman of sophistication out to the wild west?”

  She debated answering, then realized that this might well be an individual she might see again. She’d heard most of the passengers were destined for Flagstaff. With an inward sigh, she answered carefully, as politely as she could although her tone still came across icier than intended. “Well, if you must know, I am a member of the Lady’s Betterment League of the Western Territories.”

  He blinked a few times. She was starting to grow accustomed to that response though it annoyed her to no end. Surely even in the wilds, such societies had been heard of, hadn’t they?

  Or, given his obvious befuddlement, perhaps not.

  Mr. Harmen cleared his throat. “Sounds like a grand title, if I do say so.” He took the pitcher of water from the side of the table and poured them each a glass, handing her the first. “You look a bit parched, Miss Childs.”

  “Very attentive of you, sir,” she said, but couldn’t make the reproach stick. She was quite thirsty.

  “But that doesn’t answer my question, of course,” he said as the coffee arrived on a tray. “What is a member of the Lady’s Bereavement League…?”

  “Betterment League.”

  “Of course. What are you doing out here in the wilds?”

  “I have been commissioned to open a branch in the Arizona Territories to assist in bringing education and enlightenment to women of all color, white, Indian and Mexican. We will teach them to write and read and press for the right to vote. We will teach them sewing and cooking and proper nutrition as well.”

  “I see.” This time Mr. Harmen did sound impressed. “That sounds like a mighty undertaking. How ever will you start something of that magnitude? MISS Childs?” He snapped her name a little harshly. She’d been distracted by the man with the mustache. She could have sworn she’d heard him laughing and wondered what had caught his interest. Unfortunately, Mr. Harmen had caught her at it and seemed rather piqued. Margrett glanced at her clasped hands. She was being rude, and she’d been rightly called on it.

  “I plan to begin by finding a house, a place for the women to meet and to learn. Perhaps you could assist me, Mr. Harmen, if you are familiar with Flagstaff?”

  “I am very familiar, Miss. I own many properties there, however, finding a place that would suit something such as you describe would be problematic.”

  Two men chose that moment to walk by. To her surprise, it was the mustached man and his portly companion. They stopped next to the table, blocked by the porter who was serving breakfast to a rather elderly gentleman across the aisle who Margrett began to wish she’d seen before sitting with Mr. Harmen.

  “I am sorry to deprive you of your breakfast, sir,” the fat man said as he tried with limited success to navigate the close chairs and tables of the dining car as the porter moved around them.

  “Think nothing of it.” The darkly smooth basso rumble of the mustached man was music to her ears. “I never have more than coffee in the morning anyway. T
ell you what, I’ll go straight over from the station when we arrive and we can work out the details…” and they moved on, the door closing on them both a moment later, leaving her in sudden silence, with a breakfast companion that was looking less promising by the minute.

  Especially given the glare of pure malice from her companion that had followed the men out the door. This time she wasn’t imagining things, though It vanished almost instantly when Mr. Harmen discovered her looking at him.

  Mr. Harmen smiled brightly as though there had been no pause in conversation at all. “Having said that, of course, I should also tell you that I am on my way now to sell a house I own in Flagstaff. I am meeting a gentleman there who has expressed an interest in it.”

  “Blast,” she said and covered her mouth when she realized the word that had escaped her lips. “Forgive me. I just thought it would have been immensely convenient if you’d had the house for sale that I could possibly look at buying. I have the cash for it.” That last part was said in a whisper to assure she was not overheard by the rougher sorts in the car.

  “Well,” Mr. Harmen stared into space a moment, fingertips drumming a rhythm on the tablecloth. “As it happens, the gentleman who expressed an interest isn’t coming in until tomorrow… I suppose I could let you see it when we arrive, but you would have to go there straight away, bringing your bags with you, I mean.”

  “I don’t mind.” She was excited. Visions of happy women walking out of her house, straight and self-assured for the first time in their lives, danced before her eyes. “While we’re waiting, perhaps you could tell me about the house?”