The Color of Ivy Read Online Free PDF Page B

began to tremble.  Terribly.  Which only increased tenfold when he sat up and pushed the rim of his hat away from his face.
    “Mighty smart move—“
    Before she could allow him to finish the sentence, she swung the lamp with all the force she could muster and made contact with his temple.  With a soft thump, he collapsed back against his seat.  A tiny trickle of blood oozed out from beneath his hairline.  She waited a heart-stopping moment to ensure he was out cold.
    Or dead.
    Swiftly, before anyone should happen to enter the empty car, she pulled his Stetson down low, concealing the evidence of blood.  Then glancing over her shoulder and making certain she had no eyewitnesses, she slipped hurriedly out of the car.

Chapter 3
    Sam pried his heavy lids open.  Damn, the side of his head throbbed.  What the devil happened?  Reaching up, he rubbed his temple and glanced about the car.  It was still empty.  He froze.  Recollection came swift.
    Ivy McGregor.
    He swore and sat bolt upright, but the pain in his head had him grimacing and swaying backward.  Sliding his fingers beneath his Stetson, they came back stark red.  Blood red.
    He cursed savagely and gave the blood a vicious scrub on his denim clad leg before slamming his hat back on his head.  On the verge of springing to his feet, the sight outside his window had him stopping cold in his tracks.
    The sun no longer sat in the eastern sky shining brightly overhead.  It was now making a slow and leisurely de scent toward the opposite side of the earth.  But more importantly than that, the train was no longer moving.
    He leaped to his feet, ignoring the lingering pain in his temple.  Where the hell were they?  Grabbing his duster, he hurried down the car’s corridor and threw open the vestibule’s sliding door.  Inside, a porter was returning a boarding stool from the terminal’s platform.
    “Where are we?” he asked, slipping his arms into his coat.
    “Sudbury Junction, sir.”
    “How long?”  He held his breath, waiting for the answer.
    “We are just about to leave.  Everyone has reboarded.”
    “Did a redheaded woman disembark?”
    “Not that I noticed.”
    Sam spun around and headed straight for the car Ivy McGregor shared with the Radford’s.  Half walking, half running, he pushed past passengers not very pleased to make room for him.  As he neared their compartment, he saw Mrs. Radford’s outrageous hat first, then her husband sitting across from her. 
    But no Ivy McGregor.
    Not that he expected to see her, but still he cu ssed silently before shoving his head inside the compartment and demanding, “Where is she?”
    Harold Radford looked taken back.  “Who?”
    “Ivy McGregor.”
    “Who the devil is Ivy McGregor?”
    “Your maid.  Where is she?”
    “We have no maid by the name of Ivy McGregor, sir.”  Harold Radford looked at Sam as if he were a raving lunatic.  “What on earth are you going on about?”
    “Moira James,” he gro und out.  “Where is she?”
    “What in heavens do you need with her?”  Allison Radford declared.
    Sam ignored her question and demanded with more force, “Where the blazing inferno is she?”
    “Good Lord!”  Clutching a hand over her chest, she pulled back as if expecting Sam to strike her.
    “Where is Moira James?”
    Harold Radford scooted over to his wife’s side and draped a protective arm across her shoulders.  “I imagine in the lavatory where she’s spent most of her time on this trip thus far.”
    Sam turned and bolt ed for the front of the car where the ladies washroom was located.  Lifting a fist, he pounded on the door.  “Open up!”
    “Good God, sir!”  Harold Radford followed him into the aisle and watched Sam with a look of horror.  His wife peered behind him, eyes huge as she stared up at Sam as if he were the criminal.  “What in the world do you think you are doing?”
    “Return to your seats.  Please.”  He spat out just as the train’s very