A Wanted Man Read Online Free PDF Page A

“Mr. Hoxie, you too.”
    Clearly torn, Hoxie shot a furtive glance at Mrs. Bossidy. It was perfectly obvious which of the two ladies frightened him more, and Laura made a mental note to work on a more commanding presence.
    But then the stranger strode down the aisle. Hoxie trotted after him.
    They stopped at the door. The man eased it open, peering cautiously out. He waved Hoxie through, stepped out himself, and they were gone.
    Out there. Where there were horrible men with guns and knives and who knew what other kinds of terrible things.
    “Do you think he’ll be all right?”
    “Of course he’ll be all right.” Mrs. Bossidy waved her hand in dismissal. “Hoxie’s always all right.”
    “No, I—” How terrible of her. She’d known Mr. Hoxie for more than half her life, and she was worrying about a man she had barely met. Hadn’t even really met, if it came right down to it.
    And it would never do if Mrs. Bossidy got even a whiff of such a thing. If she ever suspected that Laura had a weakness for mysterious, wicked-looking men, she’d have her bundled back to Sea Haven and locked away until she was too old for her clearly lamentable taste in men to matter.
    Not that Laura had ever suspected she had a predilection for men such as he. But then, she’d never known any. Novelty, she reflected, always had a certain allure. No doubt that was all there was to it. “But Mr. Hoxie’s not as young as he used to be,” she said, attempting to inject as much innocence and appropriate concern into her voice, failing miserably to her own ears. Prevarication, like flirting and tennis and kissing, was undoubtedly one of the things one must master as an adolescent or be forever poor at.
    But Mrs. Bossidy wasn’t attending close enough to notice. She stood, fists on her hips, over Hiram, still slumped in his chair but stirring. His head rolled fromone side to the other, his sun-browned cheek speckled with the imprint of the crushed plush seat back, and his lids fluttered. “Wouldn’t you know it,” she said. “The first opportunity in years for him to earn his pay, and he sleeps through it.”
    “I don’t think being concussed qualifies as sleeping.”
    “Sleeping, concussed. The end result’s the same, isn’t it?” She leaned over and patted him on the cheek, more firmly than was required. “Time to wake up.”
    “I think he’s coming around, anyway.”
    “Sweetheart, don’t spoil my fun,” she said, and thumped more firmly. “Come on, Mr. Peel. You’re missing everything as usual.”

     
    More gunshots. Five of them, maybe six. Enough to have Laura on the edge of her seat, hands clenched so tightly in her lap that her fingers went numb.
    The men in the car had propped the two well-trussed bandits in the corner of the car, where they’d slumped against the wall and glared at the passengers. Now and then a child—brave or dared into it—would sneak up to poke at them, only to be shooed away by their mothers.
    Hiram, once roused enough to understand what he’d missed, attempted to go after Mr. Hoxie and the stranger. But when he managed to push himself to his feet, he swayed as woozily as if he stood in a boat instead of a train. Mrs. Bossidy merely gave him a light shove, and he’d dropped back into his chair. “You stay right there. No telling who you might crush if you toppled over in an inconvenient place.”
    “Hey.” Palms facing her, he lifted his hands. “Whatever you say. Wouldn’t want you pushing me around.”
    “Hmm.” She tilted her head, considering. “Laura, what do you think? I do believe he’s got his hands in the exact same position as when he was meekly acquiescing to that horrible bandit. You know, the one that Mr. Hoxie dispatched so very efficiently.”
    He scowled at her. “Now see here—”
    “Oh, just stop it,” Laura snapped, her nerves frayed to a fine thread, her display of temper so rare that they stopped sniping and gaped at her instead.
    “Miss Hamilton.”