A Touch of Camelot by Delynn Royer

clearly lecherous intentions and Shepherd's clearly murderous ones, she was beginning to think that she might have gotten herself into a pickle.
    Cole's voice was low, straining patience. "In this case, sir, the lady doesn't have a choice. She's coming with me."
    For what seemed a long time, the two men stared each other down. Gwin could see that they were getting ready to engage in the sort of male posturing that usually ended up with one or the other bleeding face down all over the carpet. The small, all-male crowd in the saloon car had grown ominously quiet.
    Gwin shifted in her seat and set down her glass. "Uh, gentleman?"
    Neither of them paid any attention to her.
    Monroe puffed on his cigar and blew out a frothy smoke ring. "Why don't you run along, son? The lady is in the middle of a game right now and doesn't wish to be disturbed."
    Cole's eyes narrowed as he turned to Gwin. "Is that right?"
    Gwin’s intention had been to teach him a lesson for treating her so high-handedly. Cuffing him to his berth had just been a bit of last-minute inspiration. Tit for tat, as the saying went, but, oh dear, he certainly wasn’t taking it very well. She set down her cards. "I'm terribly sorry, Mr. Monroe, but I must have lost track of time. It's dreadfully late."
    Before she could even start to rise, she felt Cole's fingers wrap around her elbow, hoisting her to her feet. He addressed Mr. Monroe. "Does the lady owe you any money?"
    Monroe's dark eyes held Cole's for another tense second before flicking to Gwin. "The lady and I are even," he said finally. He nudged Silas's silver watch across the table toward her. "I believe this belongs to you?"
    "I'm so sorry we had to cut our game short," Gwin said, snatching the watch and slipping it back into the pocket of her skirt. "Perhaps another time."
    Before she could continue, Cole gave her elbow a jerk. Gwin found herself being steered purposefully toward the rear of the saloon car. Every eye in the place followed their progress, but Gwin was hardly aware of it. This wasn't the way back to their sleeping coach. Where was he taking her?
    "Hey! Ouch! Not so hard!" Gwin struggled against his manhandling once they were outside in the narrow vestibule. She raised her voice to be heard over the deafening clatter of the locomotive's wheels. "Where are we going?"
    "In here." Cole pulled the door to the next car open. He pushed her inside ahead of him and closed it behind them.
    Gwin squinted in the murky light. Only one overhead lamp illuminated the car, and that one was turned low. This was not surprising since very few people chose to frequent the baggage car in the middle of the night. On either side of them, piled high, were crates and steamer trunks, valises and satchels, and even one odd-shaped, pillowslip-covered item that might have been a birdcage.
    Cole backed Gwin up against the wall by the door. "What are we doing in here?" she asked.
    Cole's grip on her arm tightened, but he didn't look at her. Instead, his gaze seemed oddly and determinedly fixed on a spot on the wall just over her head. "If at all possible, just shut up a minute, Gwin. I'm trying to keep from murdering you."
    Gwin opened her mouth, and then thought better of it. She eyed Cole's rigid jaw above her and waited, acutely aware of the sheer strength in him and of how treacherously close they were. It made it damnably hard to think straight.
    "Well," she said finally, slipping gingerly from his grasp and massaging her arm. "Are you ever going to speak to me again, or are we just going to stand here all night while you decide how to dispose of my body?"
    "A seemingly small but important part of the plan, disposal of the body."
    Judging by the subdued tone of his voice, she thought maybe he'd calmed down. She tried to sound bright. "I must say I'm impressed. It didn’t take you long to find me."
    "No thanks to you."
    "Where's your sense of humor?"
    He finally looked at her. "I must have left it shackled to my berth.