cleanliness is next to godliness,” she countered.
He smirked. “Didn’t know God categorized folks by how often they bathed.”
“Perhaps not but I didn’t want the mutt to offend you when he climbed aboard with me. I certainly wasn’t going to leave him behind to die.”
“You’re all heart, ma’am.”
“Likewise, I’m sure.”
Piper hated to admit it, but she actually enjoyed their banter. Thus far, the other male passengers had let her be after one or two of her pointed remarks. But this gambler gave as good as he got. Plus, he hadn’t tried to impress her with polished manners and premeditated charm. Not that he had any to spare, of course. The fact that she found this man intriguing and physically appealing astounded her.
“By the way, what is your name? I see no reason for me to keep referring to you as the no-account gambler,” she teased.
“Cal.”
“Cal what?”
“Just Cal. Short and sweet.”
“Short, yes,” she said, chuckling. “But I’m not so sure about sweet.”
When he leaned toward her the mutt jerked up his head. But Cal didn’t seem the least bit alarmed that the dog had become protective of her. She rather suspected that he was trying to get a better look at her through the dark veil.
He tossed her a mocking grin. “What should I call you besides the nagging old hag?”
“Agatha Stewart,” she said without missing a beat.
“Agatha,” he repeated, rolling the name off his tongue. “Somehow that fits you. So…are you going west to torment anyone in particular?”
She snickered in amusement. “Just my sister. Luckily we are a great deal alike,” she replied, wondering why she was daring to spend so much time conversing with Cal. She knew she would be better off if they traveled in silence. But she had to admit that she was curious about him and wanted to get to know him better. “Do you have family somewhere, Calvin?”
His dark brows flattened and he frowned at her. “The name is just plain Cal.”
“So you say,” she said with a dismissive flick of her gloved hand. “Where does your kin call home?”
Something flickered in his eyes that made Piper think she had accidentally hit an exposed nerve. When he settled himself deeper into the seat and folded his arms over his broad chest, as if closing himself off from her, she stared bemusedly at him.
“I don’t have kin, Agatha.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry,” she murmured sincerely.
He shrugged. “Forget it.” A moment later a lopsided smile crossed his sensuous lips—and confound it, she was annoyed with herself for noticing. “I’m sure you just couldn’t help yourself. Meddling probably comes naturally.”
Piper was enormously affected by his smile because it altered his entire appearance and changed her perception of him. For the first time in their association she sensed hidden warmth in him, a flicker of humanity. Maybe he wasn’t as much of a good-for-nothing as she had first thought.
He had tried to upright her when the bouncing coach sent her plummeting onto the floorboards. He had also been the only one to rush to her rescue when the oversize mutt had startled her. Plus, he had carted out food to her for supper.
He was not without a few saving graces, she realized.
“I hail from Galveston,” she said conversationally, careful to keep the nasal twang in her voice. “My family is disgustingly rich and I have been pampered and spoiled my whole life. Extenuating circumstances, which I won’t bore you with, have made me wary and cynical.”
“Then we are the perfect traveling companions,” he replied. “We may seem like exact opposites, but I suspect we are very much alike.” He nodded his head toward the pup sleeping contentedly beside her. “Like the mutt, I’ve been kicked around, cursed, ridiculed and rejected most of my life. I’m a mite cynical and suspicious myself, but for entirely different reasons. So…are we about done with the idle chitchat, Agatha? It’s not one of my best talents.”
“I do believe we are done with the chitchat,” she said as she settled back on the seat.
His previous comment about leading a hard life aroused her curiosity. But Piper cautioned herself not to become overly intrigued by a man who was never going to be more than a temporary footnote in this chapter of her life.
“I could use some shut-eye,” he mumbled.
That said, he pulled down his Stetson hat, swung his muscled legs up on the seat and settled in for a nap.
Left with nothing to do—a hazard of lengthy overland coach travel—Piper stared out the window. She surveyed the rugged mountains that rose in the distance, admiring the looming peaks that were swathed in the red-and-purple hues of the sunset.
When the coach hit a bump in the road, she braced herself against the window frame, then patted the mutt’s head when he stirred beside her. Piper noticed that Cal simply shifted on the seat and braced his feet to counter the jarring motion of the coach. This time it looked as if he were actually sleeping rather than faking it.
Piper decided she might as well catch a nap, too. What else was there to do besides contemplate the man across from her? She had thought about him entirely too much already.
Somewhere around midnight, the coach ground to a halt and Quinn groaned tiredly. Having traveled this route recently he knew they had reached the isolated trading post that rented upstairs rooms to passengers. He stretched his arms and worked the kinks from his back. An amused smile quirked his lips when he noticed Agatha had conked out and lay at an uncomfortable angle on the seat. The dog had curled up between her bent knees and her outflung right arm.
Damn if Quinn could figure out why that mutt was so devoted to the old woman.
Well, yes, he could, come to think of it. Persnickety and outspoken though she could be, she seemed to have a soft spot for strays. She had defended the mutt’s right to survival against anyone who dared to cross her. It was encouraging to know that beneath Agatha’s prickly armor of defense beat a kind and caring heart.
He doubted, however, that she wanted many people to know that because it would destroy the standoffish air she tried to project. But why she wanted to keep people at arm’s length he couldn’t figure out. Of course, there were several things about Agatha that puzzled him, he reminded himself.
Quinn reached over to nudge her shoulder, which seemed to be strangely well padded. He wondered if it was her insulation against the rough coach ride from Galveston. “Agatha,” he murmured. “Wake up. There’s a cot with your name on it at this trading post.”
Her quiet moan surprised him. It sounded nothing like the grating voice he was accustomed to hearing from her. Frowning, he studied her in the dim lantern light that sprayed through the window. Yep, there was definitely something about this old hag that didn’t quite add up.
The thought turned
