Twice Upon a Train Page 2

  “You’re not like the other surgeons,” Naomi said softly. “You’re good at multidisciplinary collaboration, a real team player, so patient and kind. That’s what made me fa—”

  “I’m not so different from the others. Really, I’m not.”

  “To me, you are.”

  Keegan shifted her weight, readjusting her grip on the towel. “Look, uh, I probably need to get going.”

  “That’s right,” Naomi responded, “your appointment.” She allowed her gaze to linger for a long moment. “It makes me happy that you’re taking my suggestion.”

  “Yeah, well, we’ll see what I end up doing about it,” Keegan responded, collecting her clothes, and returning to the shower stall to change into them. When she stepped out, she found Naomi where she’d left her. “Oh, you’re still here.”

  “I thought I’d stick around; walk you to your car.”

  Keegan released a breath, making her way to the garage in short order. “See you later,” she called out, driving off. She apologized for being late, taking a seat at a small conference table. “If you have another appointment, need me to reschedule, it really is—”

  “No, no need for that,” the travel agent responded. “My one o’clock won’t be here until one-thirty.” She spread a collection of brochures on the table, sorting them by geographic area, mode of transportation, uniqueness, and price range. “As I explained on the phone,” she continued, all business, “we offer a wide range of travel packages.”

  “So, I see,” Keegan answered. “Quite impressive.”

  “And, we take care of all the details,” the agent added, “air, boat, train, taxi, hotel, tours, restaurant reservations, everything.”

  “That’s what I found most appealing about your organization,” Keegan answered, studying one brochure, laying it down, and picking up another. “I don’t want to have to think about any of it.”

  “You mentioned that you were looking for something out of the ordinary?”

  “Yes, but nothing like the ones in this pile.” She held up a brochure with a cover image of a group of travelers crossing Mongolia on the backs of camels. “I want to do something interesting, but not exotic, something that won’t interfere with my reading and relaxation.”

  “I think I have just the package you’re looking for,” the travel agent responded, handing her a piece of literature.

  “New York to California, roundtrip on a steam train,” Keegan commented. “Now, that’s interesting.”

  “You’d board at Penn Station, head west through Ohio and Indiana, and make your way to Chicago’s historic Union Station. By the following morning, you’d be able to see the Rocky Mountains from your sleeper car window. Near Denver, you’d start your climb to the Continental Divide. Then, you’d pass through Salt Lake City, cross the snow-capped Sierra Nevada Mountains, travel through Reno, and have two days to explore the cultural wonderland of San Francisco before returning to New York.”

  “Nice. I attended medical school in San Francisco. What dates are available?”

  “That’s the catch. It’s a vintage train, restored for just this one last trip across the country. When she gets back, she’ll take her place in a museum in Illinois.” She pointed to a line of text. “You’d depart on this date and arrive back at Penn Station on this one.”

  “That’s next Friday,” Keegan responded. “I couldn’t possibly get away that quickly.”

  “I understand,” the agent said. “I imagine as a surgeon, you’re quite busy.” She went on to share the details of several packages that would meet Keegan’s criteria—a Caribbean cruise, an Arctic journey, and an Amazon expedition.

  “Sorry, but I really don’t see anything that strikes me,” Keegan responded, glancing at her watch, a Gucci with a gold band. “And, I’m going to need to get back for a surgery. So, how about this, how about I take another look at my schedule, see if I can move up a couple of surgeries, and get back to you about the steam train package? Maybe give you a call the first of next week?”

  “You’re welcome to do that,” the agent responded, “but I doubt that we’ll still have tickets.” She glanced at her laptop. “In fact, I’m sure that we won’t, not with only five seats left.” She leaned in, numbers on her screen flashing. “Correction, three seats. Two just sold on the Internet.”

  “Guess I’ll have to take my chances,” Keegan said. As she approached the door, a bell jingled, and two women entered—a beautiful, curvaceous, blonde and a malnourished, snarky, red-head.

  The blonde paused, locking gazes. “Do I know you?” she asked. “Because it’s weird, it seems like I know you from somewhere.”

  “No, no, I don’t think so,” Keegan answered, mesmerized by her eyes, as blue as the planet Neptune, and by the strangest sensation, an instant connection, a feeling that she’d known her forever.

  “Perfect timing,” the agent greeted, touching the redhead's arm. “You’ll find a collection of brochures on the table.”

  “Sorry we’re late,” the redhead answered. “We made the mistake of stopping for lunch.” She shook her head. “I don’t think I’ve ever experienced poorer service.”

  “No worries,” the agent responded, turning to dismiss Keegan. “I’ll look forward to your call.” She flashed a smile. “And, if that steam train package doesn’t work out, don’t fret, we’ll find one that will.”

  “I’m sure,” Keegan answered, inadvertently catching the blonde’s eye as she went out the door.

  CHAPTER THREE

  “Who was that woman,” Nicole asked, “the one you talked to by the door?”

  “I didn’t catch her name,” Willow answered. “I thought I knew her, but I guess not, because she didn’t know me.” Her stomach fluttered, remembering Keegan—her eyes, gentle and brown; her hair, a swirl of burnt umber and silver; her jawline, chiseled, almost masculine. “Weird, feeling like you know someone that you don’t.”

  Nicole winked. “Maybe you knew her in a past life.”

  “Yeah, right,” Willow answered, the aroma of vanilla halting her progress down the sidewalk. “I think we need a cupcake,” she blurted out. There were very few things that she could honestly say that she liked about Manhattan, and this little bakery was one of them. “Or maybe a cookie,” she added, “your choice.”

  “I’m on a diet.”

  “You’re always on a diet.”

  “Fat attorneys don’t win cases.”

  “You’re not fat.”

  “Matter of opinion.”

  “We could go through the brochures again. I think I’m close to making a decision.”

  “Probably just saying that to get me to stop for a cupcake.”

  A slow smile spread across Willow’s face. “Now, would I do that?”

  “In a heartbeat,” Nicole answered, holding the door for her to step in. She ordered two cupcakes, both chocolate, one with and one without icing. “Oh, and two small drinks,” she added, “a chocolate cherry cappuccino, and a black coffee.”

  “You got it.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Okay, so these are my favorites,” Willow announced, arranging brochures on the table as Nicole set the chocolate cherry cappuccino before her, “the Rocky Mountains, the Bahamas, and San Francisco.”

  “Plane, ship, train,” Nicole observed. “Rank them.”

  “I narrowed the field,” Willow answered, licking the icing from her finger, “you rank them.”

  “No, Willow,” Nicole responded firmly, “you rank them.”

  “Stubborn,” Willow said, “possibly the most stubborn person I know.”

  Nicole chuckled, stirring low-calorie sweetener into her coffee. “I’d say thank you, but I’m not sure it was a compliment.”

  “You know it wasn’t.”

  “Oh well.”

  “Okay,” Willow began, “so, the Bahamas trip looks like fun.” She pointed to a brochure showing men and women sipping fancy cocktails while lounging in the sun. “Do you want to go on this one?�
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  Nicole lifted an eyebrow, looking at her.

  “And the Rocky Mountains vacation has us staying in this really neat cabin,” she continued, holding up a pamphlet for Nicole to see the cover. “How about this one?”

  Nicole took a sip of coffee.

  “But this is the trip I keep coming back to,” she went on, touching the image of a steam-powered workhorse.

  “I saw you light up when she told us about that one.”

  “But it’s a train and trains are slow and confining.”

  “Not when they stop a zillion times.”

  “Don’t lie to me, Nikki. You know, I know when you’re lying.”

  “I’m not lying,” Nicole responded, wrapping the remaining three-quarters of her cupcake in paper, and tossing it into the waste container. “It looks like fun. Really, it does.”

  “I hope you’re not just saying that.”

  “I’m not,” Nicole insisted, stepping toward the travel agency as Willow trailed behind. “We’ve made our decision,” she greeted, the bell jangling behind them. “Two tickets on the steam train to California, please.”

  “Be sure to arrive at least an hour before departure,” the travel agent responded, processing her credit card, and handing her a folder that contained the requested items. “Enjoy your trip.”

  “I’m sure we will,” Nicole answered, stepping to the sidewalk. When Willow thanked her for the umpteenth time, she said, “Stop thanking me.”

  “I just want to be sure you know how much I appreciate—”

  “I do,” Nicole responded, shifting gears, and whipping into traffic. They talked about the trip, changing lanes, and sailing through stop lights. “Do you need anything from the grocery store?”

  “Yes, but you don’t need to stop; I can take the bus later.”

  “Nonsense,” Nicole answered, pulling in, and parking in the fire lane.

  Willow hopped out, promising to hurry.

  “No need, my schedule’s clear.”

  Within fifteen minutes, Willow was back in the car, thanking her. “Ripple, I’m home,” she announced, setting a brown paper bag on the counter. Paws thumped to the hardwood floor. He’d been on the back of the sofa, his favorite perch when she was gone. “There’s my boy,” she greeted, transferring groceries to her cabinet, and operating the can opener. “It’s tuna, your favorite,” she said, setting down his saucer. As he was eating, she opened three bills, two of which were for the initial payments on her student loans. Her stomach hardened, seeing the balance of her checking account. She needed a job—desperately needed a job—before the end of next month. She dialed, walking to her bedroom. “Look, I’ve been thinking,” she greeted, “that a trip might not be such a good idea right now. I appreciate the gesture, but—” She kicked off her shoes, listening to Nikki’s point of view. “Are you kidding? There’s no way I’m gonna be able to find a job before we go,” she countered, “and my student loans are due.” She listened again, pressing speaker as she hung up her dress.

  “If you put in full days between now and Thursday,” Nikki argued, “get your resume into as many hands as possible, you could take calls from potential employers on our way to San Francisco.”

  “That’s assuming that any call me.”

  “They will,” Nicole responded, “but if by some fluke they don’t, you may as well be on the trip.”

  *

  Keegan sat up, sweating, surprised to find herself stretched out on the sectional sofa in her office. She’d laid down after her last surgery, planning to be there for no more than a moment. Dream. It was just a dream. Of late, they were strangely different, recurrent and nightmarish. She closed her eyes tightly, pushing back the combination of memories and grotesque images. It began as it always began—with the prosecuting attorney, a shark, nosing through the wooden gate and taking her seat at the counsel table. The judge, an owl, was on his perch behind the bench, and the jury, rodents, were in the jury box. A series of expert witnesses testified first. When the defendant, a man who looked and sounded like her friend, was called, the shark cross-examined him.

  “Good afternoon, sir,” she greeted, an evil smile spreading from gill slits to gill slits. “Please, state your full name for the jury.”

  “Mark Lucas Holstein.”

  “And you’re a physician, is that correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “And your medical specialty is?”

  “Trauma surgery.”

  “And you practice at New York General?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you admit that your patient died after you pierced her bile duct?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “A yes or no will be sufficient, thank you.”

  “Yes.”

  “And you admit that the puncture was not standard medical practice?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Your Honor, it would be helpful if you could instruct this witness to answer my questions without elaboration.”

  “Dr. Holstein, you will answer the shark’s questions without adding additional information.”

  Before the dream could play out, a knock sounded.

  Keegan stood, scrubbing her face with her hands. “Come in.”

  “MVA multiple trauma with a pelvic injury,” the ER nurse said after apologizing for interrupting her nap. “Twenty-three-year-old male trapped in a wrecked vehicle for several hours. No recordable blood pressure. No palpable radial or femoral pulse, just carotid. ETA three minutes.”

  Keegan broke into a run, moving toward the ER.

  “Deteriorated during transport,” the nurse continued, staying right with her. “Required aggressive resuscitation. Right leg cold. O neg ready.”

  “Coming through,” Keegan called out, dodging people, gurneys, and a meal cart. Six hours later, she was stepping out of the shower, having decided that if that steam train ticket was still available, she’d book her trip over the Internet—tonight.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The man in plaid stepped close to the track, leaning in as the train clanked toward them. He stood six feet tall, had strong facial features, and a warm, deep brown skin complexion. “She’s really something, huh?”

  “That she is,” Keegan responded, struck by the sound of the super-heated steam being exhausted through the locomotive’s stack. “Quite the marvel of engineering.”

  The man extended his hand. “Humphrey Leonard. Taught eighth-grade social studies for thirty years, three-thousand-four-hundred-fifty students. Every spring, I’d teach a unit on nineteenth-century transportation.” He smiled nostalgically. “Needless to say, I know all about steam trains.”

  “I’ll bet you do,” Keegan answered, shaking his hand. “Keegan Wade.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Ms. W—”

  “Keegan.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Keegan,” Humphrey said, his gaze following the conductor who took his position beside the lead passenger car. “He’ll be taking tickets pretty soon.”

  “Then, I suppose we should head that way.”

  “I suppose we should.”

  “Maybe our paths will cross again,” Keegan said, smiling.

  “No maybe about it,” Humphrey answered. “Everybody’s path crosses time and again on a train.”

  As Keegan presented her ticket, she caught sight of the gorgeous blonde and the snarky redhead in the distance, wondering if they too were headed to San Francisco. Makes no difference, she told herself, because it’s likely that they’re a couple.

  “If you’ll step this way,” the conductor prompted, “I’ll show you to your accommodations.”

  Humphrey glanced over his shoulder, providing commentary as they walked. “Fourteen cars, eight of them with full sleeping arrangements, some with double-bedrooms, and others with one bedroom and another room with lounge furnishings.”

  “Excellent,” Keegan responded, thinking more about the blonde than the conversation. “I’m supposed to have a bedroom-lounge combination. But I bought the
last ticket, so I guess I’ll take what they give me.”

  “Got me a berth. I sleep in a lean back chair at home, so I figured why not save the money.” He slid a worn suitcase into a luggage compartment, nodding toward a small sleeping area. “Looks like this one’s mine.”

  “Good deal,” Keegan said, expecting her accommodations to be much roomier, and several cars back.

  The conductor resumed her trek toward the rear of the train. “Through this door, we’ll enter the first of two dining cars, the bar, and the lounge.”

  “We should meet for dinner one night,” Humphrey called out. “Always makes a trip more fun if you get to spend time with new people.”

  “We should,” Keegan responded politely. It was the last thing she wanted to do, but would, rather than hurt his feelings. “It’s elegant,” she commented, stepping through the white-tablecloth restaurant.

  “It is,” the conductor agreed, explaining that Gold on the Bay’s meals were presented in courses, that champagne and caviar were available, and that she’d have to dress for dinner if she wished to be served. “You’ll find the San Fran Cafe to be more casual.”

  “Good to know,” Keegan responded, noticing that the table settings consisted of silver, crystal, and bone china. As they walked through what appeared to be a nineteenth-century tavern, she noticed a player piano and a fully stocked ebony bar. “I assume you have room service.”

  “Yes,” the conductor responded. “You’ll find menus for both restaurants and the bar in the top drawer of your desk.”

  “Might be nice to eat at the nice restaurant at least once,” Humphrey chimed in. “We could do it tonight if you wanted?”

  “That’d be great, but I doubt we could get a reservation on such short notice.”

  The conductor glanced at her clipboard. “According to the list, you already have one.”

  “Oh, that’s right,” Keegan responded, wishing she hadn’t spoken up, “it came with the travel package.”

  Humphrey’s eyes brightened. “Lucky break. Whatever time it is, is fine.”