Mariel didn't want his life. She wanted her own back, but deep inside, she knew she wouldn't have been able to live with the knowledge that she'd allowed Rhody Beaufort to go free just because she didn't want to be inconvenienced. The gang leader was a terrible man, a known murderer and rapist. A lucky shot by one of the Mint Hall's bank guards, catching the gang leader in the thigh, was the only reason Rhody had been captured while the rest of his gang rode to freedom. And now she was the last of the bank's customers on that fateful day who could testify against him.
It wasn't any sort of an honor and, truth be told, she was afraid.
"I won't let him hurt you," Clay insisted. There was nothing playful at all about him. In fact, there was something dark in those whiskey-colored eyes that suggested the handsome Marshal had done terrible deeds in the past and had been scarred by them. He wasn't just a pretty face. He was a hardened law enforcement agent with the kind of experience beneath his belt that made even the most cynical and fearful person feel safe. To Mariel's surprise, because she'd told herself from the beginning of the trip that she would only tolerate the man, she felt comforted by his presence. Maybe, just maybe, she would survive this thing.
"I'm—I'm glad it's you," she heard herself say, and she meant it. Certainly there were worse ways to travel across the territory than with such a handsome and capable man by her side. Maybe it wouldn't hurt to let down her guard a little with him. After all, their acquaintance would be short. When again would she be able to share such intimate company with a man like this? At least for the time it took to travel to Everton, Mariel would be the focus of the Marshal's world. It was…rather nice, when put that way.
"It's understandable to be scared," he told her, "but you won't come to harm. I'll do everything in my power to ensure that."
In the face of that promise, it felt petty to continue keeping him at a distance. "Thank you… Clay."
That brought out a rakish smile. He sat back. "Now that's more like it. May I have the honor of calling you Mariel? It's a lovely name. Rolls right off the tongue."
She could imagine him whispering it in the dark, in fact. She looked out the window again to avoid his amused, knowing gaze.
Mariel was no virgin. She'd been married, briefly, but Carl had succumbed to Scarlet Fever only two months into their marriage. Their brief union hadn't produced children, thank goodness, but Mariel knew enough of bedding a man. She knew exactly what Marshal Carson's—Clay's—look meant.
And she was troubled by her indecisiveness regarding it. The man would toss her skirts and move on. He had no business in Willowtown. He was too important, and his reputation proved that he wasn't interested in settling down with a single woman. I have my pride, she thought to herself. I don't need him to feel special.
But another part of her, long buried with her husband, yearned to know what it would feel like to give in to Clay's interest. The man was experienced. He likely knew all sorts of ways to bring a woman pleasure. What would sex be like with a man like that? She wished part of her didn't badly want to know.
"You may call me Mariel," she said tentatively, aware she'd opened a door between them and Clay, being who he was, would saunter right through it.
"Excellent," he said softly.
To her relief, Clay twisted around to stretch out on the bench again. "I'd best catch a few winks since it'll be my turn out there tonight. Wouldn't want to fall off my horse just because I was knackered. You might accuse me of being distracted."
She smiled at his comical look of dismay.
He picked up his hat. "Until this evening..Mariel."
He winked before settling his hat once more over his face. Released from his confident regard, Mariel breathed a quiet sigh of relief.
~~~~~
Clay awoke when the dinner trolley paused on the rail just outside their compartment door and politely chimed for service.
"Only downside to having the last compartment in the last passenger car is you get served last," he grumbled before yawning.
Mariel figured their positioning on the train was strategic in some way, perhaps putting their backs to a wall so no one could sneak up on them from behind. She was hungry, though, and agreed with him that it had taken too long to receive food. She eagerly looked through the selections within the warming case.
"Do you think there's any chance we'll make it to Everton Fort unmolested?" she asked casually once she'd selected a meat pie and sat back with the dining table pulled out between them.
Clay, who'd selected a hearty-looking roll stuffed with beef as well as a slice of cherry pie, considered the pie from several angles as he replied. "There's a chance of anything, though not much of one if I'm being honest." He looked at her. "And I'll always be honest with you, Mariel. You deserve that for what you're risking here."
The pie burned her fingers but she ignored it. "Then tell me: will I survive this trip?"
Clay lowered his roll. "I promise you: I will breathe my last before you do."
It was hardly consolation, even if he meant it that way. Mariel regarded her pie, her appetite now gone. "So this is suicide."
"Mariel."