The Other Bride. Lisa Bingham

a second glance.”

      “Let’s hope it stays that way.” Gabriel examined the trunks and crates stacked in the corner.

      Here was where the real payroll shipment was hidden—amid boxes labeled Farm Equipment and battered steamer trunks bearing the names Miles or Green.

      From the moment the Overland Express’s payroll gold had been removed from an English vault, Gabe had gone to great lengths to ensure no one would ever know that Roberts and Peterson, the two new Pinkerton agents, guarded little more than crates filled with lead bars. At the same time, on a separate ship, Miles and Green had been unobtrusively making the same journey with their trunks of gold.

      Satisfied that the seals on the containers were still intact, Gabriel surveyed the men again. He’d asked them to blend in with the other genteel travelers at the Biltmore, and judging by their attire, the men had followed his instructions to the letter.

      “The two of you will need to see to the transfer of the gold before nine tomorrow morning. I’ll send the usual agents dressed as stevedores to give you a hand, but I’ll only be able to watch from afar.”

      “No problem, cap’n,” Green said.

      Miles nodded, then asked, “The rest of tomorrow’s instructions are as planned?”

      Both of them stared at Gabe intently, knowing the trust he’d placed in them.

      “Everything else goes as planned,” Gabe confirmed. He studied the men again, noting the ease with which they held their weapons. Despite the duo’s casual stances, Gabriel had no doubts that they could shoot and reload faster than the average man. Their senses were highly tuned to each nuance of sound outside the hotel room. They could sense trouble like a deer smelling a hunter. Such skills had kept them alive during the war and made them invaluable to Gabriel now.

      “See to it that you change your clothes before you arrive at the station,” Gabriel said. “The moment you join the group of settlers on the train, I want the two of you to look like dirt-poor farmers who have finally managed to scrape together a few dimes for your passage.”

      It was clear that both men were eager to abandon their current mode of dress for the more comfortable gear usually worn on the job.

      “Once on the train, we won’t speak unless necessary,” Gabe continued. “You’ll have two men at your disposal—Garrison and Withers—to spell you off every twelve hours. Use them as runners if you need anything from me. Any questions?”

      They shook their heads.

      “Until tomorrow.”

      Gabriel turned to leave, but paused when both men saluted.

      He knew the gesture was automatic. After all, Miles and Green had served beneath him during the war. They’d grown accustomed to taking orders. But after charges of desertion had been brought against Gabriel, more than one man in his old regiment had turned against him.

      He wanted to say something. He wanted to challenge the men for believing in him when so many didn’t. But he knew the pair hadn’t meant to remind him of things he wished to leave forgotten.

      “Good luck, gentlemen,” was all he said. Then Gabriel retreated into the corridor.

      The afternoon heat was beginning to mount when Gabe exited the Biltmore and pulled a pocket watch from his vest.

      Nearly twenty-four hours remained before the journey West would begin.

      Sighing, Gabe resisted the urge to rub away the tension gripping his neck muscles. Instead, he paused outside, leaning his shoulder against the marble facade of the hotel. Hoping to catch a hint of a breeze, he took the hat from his head and wiped his brow with his arm.

      Replacing his hat, Gabe looked up, then froze. The man he’d sent to follow Phoebe was mere yards away, sitting on an iron bench with careful nonchalance. What catastrophe had caused the Pinkerton to abandon his orders in order to find Gabe?

      “O’Mara,” Gabe said quietly as he approached.

      “Cap’n.”

      “What’s happened that you were sent to find me?”

      The Pinkerton seemed confused. “Beg pardon? I followed the woman here.” The Pinkerton pointed to a jewelry shop across the road. “She’s gone in there.”

      The fact that Phoebe had felt it necessary to visit a posh jewelers did nothing to calm Gabe’s suspicions. Why would a woman dress like a pauper to meet with him, then indulge in a whim for pretty baubles mere hours later?

      “Go on home, O’Mara. I’ll take care of things from here.”

      “You’re sure?”

      Gabe nodded. “Perhaps it’s time Miss Gray and I had an in-depth talk.”

      As the door snapped shut behind her, Phoebe bit her lip in disappointment. She had instructed the hansom cab to bring her to the “most expensive jewelry store in New York City.” But after gathering her courage and entering the establishment, she had been treated no better than a beggar.

      Twenty dollars! That was all they were willing to offer her for the signet ring. Granted, twenty dollars would help her buy the things she needed, but the amount was a tenth of what she had been expecting. She’d been so angered by the patronizing tone of the clerk that she’d stormed from the shop with the ring still clutched in her palm.

      What was she going to do? She needed money. Desperately. Quickly.

      Stepping out of the way of the passers-by, Phoebe vainly tried to brush as much of the dust as possible from her skirts and bodice, sure that there must be another jeweler nearby where she could try again. But with her gloves as soiled as her dress, her efforts were less than satisfactory.

      “Problems?”

      Phoebe jumped when a deep, husky voice murmured the word in her ear. For a moment, her heart leaped and she was sure that it was the stranger from the boat. But when she turned, it was to find Gabriel Cutter standing at her shoulder.

      Her stomach flip-flopped and her mouth grew suddenly dry. “Mr. Cutter,” she said weakly. Then, with more strength, she added, “Has no one told you that it isn’t polite to startle a person on a crowded thoroughfare?”

      His expression remained neutral, but she thought she caught a glint of humor in his steel-gray eyes. “I would imagine it’s impolite to startle a person at any time or in any location.”

      Phoebe pressed her lips together, refusing to rise to the bait offered by the lift of his brows. It was clear that he found her amusing and wished to rile her. But she would not argue with the man. She wouldn’t. With her luck, she would make him angry and he would find a way to renege on his agreement.

      The thought caused her to frown. “Have you been following me?”

      His dark brows lifted even more. This time his gray eyes darkened with something akin to suspicion. “Why would I possibly want to follow you, Miss Gray?”

      “Perhaps you should tell me,” she insisted archly. Something about his look made her uncomfortable. So much so that her shoulder muscles grew tight with the effort it took not to run away.

      “For your information,” Gabe said, “I had an appointment in the area. Imagine my surprise when I emerged on the street to find you here.”

      He plucked a stray piece of fluff from her shoulder, and she stiffened. The action was innocent. So why did that tiny point of contact send a flurry of gooseflesh down her spine?