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couldn't think of any other word that fit.
    She frowned at her own spoony musings, set down her fork, and threw a quick glance around the dining hall. In this confused melee, it wouldn't be difficult to slip away from Shepherd. The problem was Arthur. Shepherd was keeping an eagle's eye on him. He was apparently bright enough to realize Gwin wouldn't try anything that would entail leaving her brother behind. And so, what Gwin needed was a distraction.
    Shepherd was busy scratching out figures into the tally book that he kept tucked into the pocket of his sack coat. She had seen him at this task several times since they'd left Caldwell and was suddenly curious.
    "So, what is it you're doing there? Jotting down fond reminiscences of our trip?"
    He smiled absently but didn't look up. "Keeping track of expenses. I suggest you finish whatever it is you want from your plate. We'll be leaving in ten minutes."
    Ten minutes . That didn't give her much time. Gwin was running out of ideas. She'd already tried flattery and flirtation and neither had gotten a rise out of him. Unfortunately, Cole Shepherd was a tougher nut to crack than the gullible deputies in Caldwell and Garden City. Gwin thought that even if she had the nerve to strip down to the quick and parade naked before his eyes, his only reaction would be to raise one faintly disapproving eyebrow. “Miss Pierce, you're liable to catch your death of cold. Now, stop all this nonsense and get dressed.” She was beginning to wonder if he was even human.
    "You wouldn't have any objections to a lady freshening up before boarding, would you?"
    He looked up from the tally book, his pencil poised over the paper. "You have five minutes, Miss Pierce. If you aren't back in five minutes, I'll come get you."
    Gwin slid off the stool, clutching her reticule primly. "Your lack of trust is most disappointing."
    She didn't give him a chance to reply as she made her way into the crowd. She glanced back only once to see that he had swiveled around on his stool to track her. His face was expressionless as he tucked his tally book back into his coat pocket, affording only a glimpse of the Colt revolver holstered at his hip. Oh, he was a suspicious one, all right.
    Gwin sent him a smile and wave before continuing to push through the crowd to the convenience rooms where a line of hot, restless women had formed. She took her place behind a hook-nosed woman clutching a Bible to her chest and fanning herself with a temperance pamphlet entitled "Demon Rum: Scourge of Mankind."
    After a moment, she rose up on her toes to see that Shepherd had finally turned his back to her. Good. She scanned a nearby crowd of travelers to size up the pool of possibilities and picked out an elegantly dressed, gray-haired gentleman.
    She watched as he pulled a gold watch from his vest pocket and listened to the lilting tone of a deep Southern accent as he replied to the inquiry of a passerby. "It is now exactly eleven thirty-eight, sir."
    Perfect. Gwin checked Shepherd's position once more before starting in the man's direction. When she was close enough, she brushed against him and dropped her reticule.
    "Oh!" She wrung her hands and slipped into her best Dixie accent. "I declare to goodness! I am at my wits' end!"
    The gentleman swooped in immediately to retrieve her bag. "My pardon, ma'am. Allow me."
    Gwin gushed and fluttered. "I am most grateful to you, sir. I can tell by your impeccable manners and elegant appearance that you are a true Southern gentleman."
    The man's full gray mustache twitched modestly as he removed his hat and swept into a gracious bow. "Colonel Samuel T. Smythe at your service, ma'am."
    "You wouldn't be boarding the eight forty, would you, Colonel?"
    "I would indeed."
    Gwin raised a hand to her bosom. "It is such a comfort to know that."
    "Is there a problem, ma'am?"
    "Well, I ..." Gwin twisted the strings of her reticule and forced a tear to slide down her cheek. "I do hate to trouble you, but I'm