Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
JAKE
The train jolts back into motion, and I settle into my seat relieved that the agents are gone and I can continue my journey to San Francisco.
But if I’m honest with myself, and I try not to be too often, this relief doesn’t just come from avoiding arrest. It’s not about the suitcase tucked under the bench or the drop waiting at the end of the line.
It’s about her.
Evelyn Not-Smith.
She’s sitting across from me now, wrapped in that oversized coat like a kid playing dress-up, a stocking sagging just enough to be distracting. Her gaze is fixed on the window, but I can tell she’s not seeing the landscape.
She’s thinking. So am I.
I stayed on this train for a reason, and I’m starting to suspect it has less to do with bootlegging and more to do with the way she looked at me when I told her I was getting off the train. Like I was an anchor keeping her moored.
Damn it.
I lean back on the berth, hands behind my head like I’m relaxed. I’m not. I haven’t been relaxed since the day I decided to leave my bootlegging ways behind, a job that one doesn’t just quit without risking life and limb.
And I definitely haven’t been relaxed since a runaway bride waltzed into my compartment and threatened my peace and my plans.
This whole fake marriage plan was supposed to be a bluff.
A way to keep heat off my trail, both from the law and from the life I’m trying to leave behind.
But there’s something about Evelyn Not-Smith that would have kept me on this train even if the agents stayed, and that’s a terrifying realization.
She sits by the window, legs tucked beneath her. She looks small. Smaller than she did an hour ago.
She hasn’t said much since the agents cleared out. Her quiet demeanor unsettles me because something about it makes me want to protect and comfort her. I can’t afford any entanglements at the moment, and I’m not interested in entering any in the future either.
I should just let her stew or pine or worry or whatever it is she’s doing. “Having second thoughts?”
She doesn’t look at me. “At marrying you? Yes.”
At least she still has a bite to her. “I meant running away from home. Maybe you should have married after all.”
She flinches. Just a fraction. Just enough to make me think her fiancé deserves a knuckle sandwich.
She sighs and leans her head against the window. “He wasn’t unkind. Just… safe. Predictable.”
“Sounds thrilling.” Okay, so he didn’t hurt her. Good. Saves me a return trip to Chicago.
“It was crushing. Everyone kept telling me how lucky I was.”
I don’t say anything. I just watch her, fitting the pieces together. Society girl. Golden cage. In my experience, dames like safe, especially if there’s money involved. But she seems to want more
She turns her pretty wide eyes on me. “Have you ever wanted to disappear?”
I don’t answer right away. “More often than I should.”
She nods. “Me too.”
That feeling of being tied down starts to grow again, and while it makes me a jerk, I need a break from her before I do something crazy, like offer to protect her. Forever.
I stand and stretch, rolling my shoulders. “I’m going to grab a smoke. Maybe scrounge up something from the dining car.”
She rises. “I’ll come with—”
The train lurches hard around a bend, and she stumbles straight into me.
I catch her, hands firm at her waist to steady her. At least that’s what I tell myself as I note again how easily she fits against me. For a second, we don’t move.
Her heart’s pounding. Mine’s not exactly steady either.
My hand presses into the small of her back. “I’ve got you. You’re safe.” I want to kiss her in the worst way.
“I’m sorry. Maybe I should have gotten off at the last stop.” She takes a step back, her head bowed, and for reasons I don’t understand, that bothers me more than I’d like.
“Why? Because you’re unsteady on your feet?” I hope my words will snap her back into the mouthy woman I’ve come to know.
“I wish I had a pithy comeback but—”
“Look Mrs. Taylor, you’re stuck with me for the duration. Unless you shove me out the window first.”
Her lips quirk up. “Tempting.
Wanting to keep myself from pulling her back into my arms and kissing her senseless, I step toward the door. “Stay here. I’ll bring something back.”
I slide the door open and step out. It’s not the best idea for me to roam the train. I’ve paid Lang extra to tend to me. But it turns out I’m in more danger from Evelyn than from Prohibition Agents.
I move to the end of the train car to light up so the smoke doesn’t filter into the sleeper car. Another reason why starting up something with her is a bad idea. She’d make me stop smoking. Eventually drinking too. She’d want me to get a boring job, and mold me into the man she just ran from.
Oh sure, she’d deny it now, but it wouldn’t be long before she’d realize she wants the stability and security her fancy life offered.
She might be stubborn enough not to return home, but she’s pretty and smart, and she’ll land a man who can offer her more than I can.
There are plenty of them in San Francisco.
When I finish my smoke, I make my way to the dining car. I pass the waiter a few bucks to get me some sandwiches and drinks I can bring back to the car. He says he can arrange for the delivery, but I wait, needing the time to clear my mind and steel myself against Evelyn’s allure.
What was she thinking running away in just a slip, a broken garter, and oversized coat? It must have been a spur of the moment decision.
It occurs to me that if she did run last minute, she has nothing else to wear. I don’t recall her having a suitcase. What are her plans for remedying her lack of clothing?
As I head back, I pass Lang and ask if he can arrange for clothes to be bought or found for “my wife” whose luggage got lost. With a knowing wink to my situation, he says he’ll see what he can do.
I return with food and find her in the same melancholic mood. I should be grateful for the silence as we eat.
“I can arrange for you to return home,” I offer, unable to bear the change in her.
Her eyes narrow at me. “Why? I’m not bothering you.”
You’ve no idea, sweetheart. She’s bothering me in ways she doesn’t understand. “You look miserable, Evie.”
For a moment, I think she’s going to correct me, insist I call her Evelyn. But she turns her gaze back out the window. “I’m not miserable.”
“Could have fooled me.”
She doesn’t respond.
“Do you have someone in San Francisco?” Maybe she’s running to a lover.
“I thought we said we wouldn’t ask about personal stuff.”
I shrug. “We’re stuck in here for awhile and you were more fun when you weren’t staring out the window looking like you’ve made the biggest mistake of your life.”
She closes her eyes and I know I’ve hit the nail on the head. “I may have been rash in my decision to leave.”
So, she has no one in San Francisco. Probably no job prospects either. She’s gutsy, I have to give her that.
“There are plenty of rich men—”
Here gaze zeros in on me with enough heat to melt even the coldest man. “What are you implying, Mr. Callahan?”
“Whoa!” I hold my hands up in case she’s about to fly out of her chair and scratch my eyes out. “I wasn’t implying anything untoward. I’m merely saying you can find another husband—”
“Is that all I’m good for?”
The heat in her voice is gone, and I hate that I’m the one that’s taking the spark out of her. “Not at all. I mean…you don’t strike me as the type to get a job, but you seem smart enough to get one.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“What can you to? Type? Teach? Sew?” What other jobs are women hired for? And how does she plan to secure work when she’s attired in a slip?
She shrugs.
That’s not a good sign. “You do have some sort of plan for an income, don’t you?”
“Of course I do. I’m not a silly ninny. I can be a governess. At least I think I can. I had a governess growing up, so I know what the job entails. And I like children.”
The fire is back in her eyes. Good. “Well then, you’re all set.”
“You don’t have to worry about me, Mr. Callahan.”
I hate how she keeps reminding me that I’m a stranger.
She stands. “Thank you for dinner. I think I’ll go to bed now.”
“Of course…wife,” I add knowing it irks her. “Top or bottom?”
She glares at me. “That’s a personal question.”
I smirk. “Berths, sweetheart. But if your mind went somewhere else, I won’t judge.” Hell, my mind has been going somewhere else since she invaded my sleeping car.
“I’m sure you wouldn’t.” She shakes her head at me. “I’ll take the top.”
“You sure? Ladder’s rickety. Wouldn’t want you tumbling down in the night and landing on your husband.”
“I’ll risk it.” She points toward the window. “Turn around.”
I do as she asks, pretending that I can’t see her reflection in the window as she removes her coat. I’m able to see just enough of her silhouette to reach the man in me. Her curves are delicate yet seductive.
This woman is going to be the end of me.
She climbs the ladder slowly.
I sit on the lower bunk, keeping my hands and eyes to myself.
Mostly.
“You decent?” she asks from above.
“Ish,” I say, peeling off my shoes. “I don’t snore, by the way.”
“I wasn’t worried.”
“You will be if I have a nightmare and start yelling about the Volstead Act.”
She laughs and it causes me to stop what I’m doing to savor it. There’s a lightness to it. So many women in her world are reserved. They don’t let anything real show through. But Evie’s laugh sounds real.
“Have you ever shared a room with a stranger before?” she asks from above.
“Define stranger.”
“Someone who lies about her name, invades your sleeper car, and pretends to be your wife.”
“Can’t say I have.”
“Me either.”
“You’re not bad at it,” I offer. “The pretending.”
“Neither are you, though I suspect you’ve done it more than once.”
She’s not wrong.
I lie back, hands behind my head, eyes on the bottom of her berth above me.
“You really think they bought it?” she asks.
“The agents?”
She hums in affirmation.
“Sure. You giggled, I growled, and you pressed yourself against me like we couldn’t keep our hands to ourselves. Besides, they didn’t want the paperwork or the fuss.”
She’s quiet again. “Do you think they’ll still be looking for me in San Francisco?”
“Sure. Your family likely has the means. But they’ll be looking for Evelyn, the society bride. Not Evie Taylor, the feisty woman wearing only a slip and a bad bob.”
“No one calls me Evie.”
I wait for her to tell me to call her Evelyn.
“I like it. It sounds like the name of the woman I want to be.”
I rub my chest, like that’ll dislodge the emotions that are trying to make themselves at home there. “Who do you want to be, Evie?”
She pauses. “Me.”
I have the strangest urge to off to help her do that. I press my lips together to stop myself from uttering a single word.
I close my eyes, willing a dreamless sleep to come.
Five seconds later, she says, “Jake?”
“Hmm?”
“If you snore, I’m pushing you off this train.”
I grin into the dark. “Deal.”