A Touch of Camelot by Delynn Royer Page A

You know, I feel like I could just about strangle you right now."
    "But you're not going to ... are you?"
    There was a silence, during which Gwin had to reconsider her original impression of Cole Shepherd's nonviolent personality. She thought that his voice, when he finally spoke, was distinctly threatening. "Don't ever try to pull a stunt like that again."
    She steeled herself. "You didn’t need to lock me up like some kind of horse thief."
    "You are a horse thief."
    "All right, you may have a small point there, but what did you expect me to do? Get down on my knees and beg you not to cuff me?"
    "What you did was just plain stupid. You could have gotten yourself into trouble."
    "I can take care of myself just fine."
    "Sure, Gwin, you'll be fine. Until you run into the wrong man."
    "Wrong man? What are you talking about?"
    "Just what the hell did you think you were doing with a man like that?"
    She didn't like his tone of voice. "A man like what?"
    "You know what I mean. He didn't look like the type who would take well to being fleeced by a cardsharp."
    Angry, Gwin squirmed out from between him and the wall. She didn't get more than three steps before her shins barked into the side of a steamer trunk. She swung around only to find that he'd followed her and had her cornered again. "I am not a cardsharp."
    "Like hell you're not. What do you call it?"
    She pointed at his chest. "What I do, Mr. Pinkerton man, is an art."
    He snorted. "An art ?"
    "That's right. It's the art of card manipulation, and in case you didn't know it, it takes years and years of practice to master."
    "It's the art of cheating, that's damn well what it is."
    "Think whatever you want. This game wasn't high stakes, anyway. Just a few dollars, and Mr. Monroe could well afford it."
    Cole's tone turned sarcastic. "You may be right. I reckon by the way he was looking at you, it wasn't the card game he was interested in, anyway."
    "What's that supposed to mean?"
    "Just exactly how were you planning on paying Mr. Monroe if you lost?"
    Gwin stared at him, taken aback. "I beg your pardon?"
    "What were you betting, Miss Pierce?"
    "A watch."
    His brows climbed. "A watch?"
    "A pocket watch!"
    "That's it ?"
    Of course that's it! What else do I have to wager?"
    "What else, indeed?"
    Gwin glared at him, simmering at his bald-faced arrogance. "If you have something to say, Shepherd, why don't you just say it?"
    "Say it? I'm not saying anything. I'm merely asking a question. It's obvious Mr. Monroe was expecting more than a handshake at the end of the evening."
    "Is it? You know, it seems to me that you have little room to talk about ungentlemanly intentions."
    "What?"
    "I've seen you looking at me, too, Shepherd, and those aren't exactly saintly thoughts I read on your face."
     Gwin saw by his surprised expression that she had hit him with the truth. She had seen him looking. She had felt his gaze on her any number of times since they had boarded the train at Topeka, and she had felt what he was feeling, too, even if it galled her to admit it.
    Cole's expression changed from surprise to anger. "How you imagine I look at you is irrelevant. I have a job to do and that job is to get you and Arthur to San Francisco."
    "And that's just what you intend to do, isn't it? Despite what we told you this afternoon? Despite the fact that you'll be delivering us into the hands of people who want us dead?"
    "Don’t string me along. I'm not one of your marks."
    "I'm not lying to you, Cole. You've got to believe me. I wouldn't lie to you."
    "Do I look like I was born yesterday?"
    Gwin shifted her weight from one foot to the other. "All right, all right, I would lie to you, but I'm not lying about this."
    "What do you expect me to do?"
    Her tone softened. "Just, please ... let us go."
    The train rounded a sudden curve, catching them both by surprise. Cole stumbled forward, capturing her around the waist just in time to keep her from flipping back over a trunk. She clutched at the lapels