The whistle of the train sounded, bringing his thoughts back to the present. He turned to see if the sound of the whistle had disturbed any of the other passengers. The only one that seemed to be awake was the woman with PC sown on her luggage. He still didn't know what the initials stood for.
"Are you restless too?" she asked. A polite smile was written on her lips.
Jim tried to warm up a smile and send it back, but he only managed to put one kink in the corner of his mouth. It wasn't that he was not attracted to her; just the sight of her burned him to the core. It was just not the time and, mainly the, place to vent the heat.
"If a man wasn't restless every now and then," he said, "he would never get anything done, that is, anything worth doing."
"Well said, I've always heard that if something is worth doing, it is worth doing well," she said, again with that fantastic smile that penetrated Jim's very soul. "Is that your aim, to do what you do well, I mean?"
"If it gets done at all, I intend to do it the best that I can," he said. This time, he managed to stretch a smile all the way across his lean face.
She smiled again, very small, then turned away to continue her fruitless effort to sleep. She turned once more to glance the man. He looked tight and strangely savage in a gentle way. Pamela Cross was confused. Something about this man disturbed her as if they were destined to meet again. She watched as he went to the door, rubbed the fog from the glass and peered out into the darkness. Then he returned to his seat for a time and sat with his saddlebags and .44-.40 Winchester lying across his lap. The train was in an easy run to the springs. He listened to the chugging sound of the engine as it did its work; looked at the woman and felt a strong stirring in his loins.
|Product dimensions:||6.00(w) x 9.00(h) x 0.48(d)|