A/N: The Ale and Quail Club belongs to Preston Sturges. If you'd like to see them in action, check out the movie The Palm Beach Story. It's brilliant.

Happy reading!

Chapter 10 – Night Waltz

1947

The slow, steady sounds of the train were hypnotic, lulling its passengers into slumber. As the night drew herself ever more firmly around them, one by one, its occupants fell asleep, succumbing to the train's rhythmic lullaby as it traveled through the darkness. All along the train, lights were being extinguished and curtains drawn, but the occupants of Drawing Room G had no intention of going to sleep. Seated opposite each other, he in the room's only chair while she fidgeted uncomfortably on the edge of the bed, swinging her legs like a child, Mr. and Mrs. Wilson stared at each other in awkward silence, a silence that had lasted since she had emerged from the bathroom wearing little more than a gauzy negligee.

"So," she said, breaking the silence, though the awkwardness remained. "It sounds like the Ale and Quail Club are settling in for the night."

The Ale and Quail Club were a group of men with too much time, too much money, and too much access to firearms en route to Alabama for a week of hunting, who had set up camp for the evening in the car behind the Wilsons. Currently, they were serenading the drowsing passengers with a drunkenly off-key rendering of "Sweet Adeline," accompanied by their dogs' howling and the occasional potshot at the conductor.

"I hope so," he replied. "One more chorus of 'Sweet Adeline,' and I'm going to take my gun and start putting them to sleep, myself." The silence continued for a few moments more before he continued with, "Mr. and Mrs. Wilson? Seriously, Jordan?"

"Well, you could have been my brother. How does the name Captain McGloo strike you?" She smirked knowingly at him.

"I seriously doubt that anyone would believe we're brother and sister….McGloo?"

"Wasn't that your mother's name?" she asked innocently.

"Her name was McGrew. M-C-G-R-E-W," he groused.

"Really? I remembered it as McGlue."

"Tell me again why we're posing as husband and wife?"

"Obviously, a husband and wife traveling together is much less suspicious than two complete strangers traveling together," she explained slowly, as if to a particularly dim-witted child. "And you call yourself a detective."

"We're not strangers."

"I doubt they'd have given us a room if we told them we were unmarried traveling companions."

"You could be right about that," he conceded. "So, where am I going to sleep?"

"Right here, of course."

He stared at her in shock, his long-buried Boy Scout revolting at such an enormous breach of propriety.

"I called the porter to make up the upper for me. He just hasn't made it here yet."

"Oh." He looked down again, feeling foolish.

That issue taken care of, Woody went back to staring at anything in the room that wasn't Jordan in a negligee. Silence reigned again in the room, broken intermittently by howls from the Ale and Quail dogs, who had been set free and were now being rounded up by any available train personnel. Finally, Jordan began another attempt at conversation, this time in a much lower voice.

"Do you…," she murmured, "do you think we'll be able to find him?"

"Honestly, I don't know." He ran a hand through his hair, uncomfortable with this line of discussion. "We've got an address, though, and some background on him, which gives us a much better shot than we had before."

"You're right. I just…I guess I don't know what I'll do if we actually do find something out."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm not sure. I mean, all my life I've wanted to do this for my mother, but I've never really thought about what it would mean for me."

"I wouldn't worry about that yet. We may not find anything, and even if we do, there's no way now of knowing what it will mean. But if you want to know what I think," he said, "I think you'll be fine." He paused to glance up at her, wondering that the animosity he'd felt toward her for so many years had melted away without his noticing. He reached for her hand, holding it securely in his, marveling at the matching bands adorning their fingers, before continuing. "And even if you're not, I'll be here for you. You can depend on me, Jordan. You always could."

The words were neither romantic nor eloquent, but they were filled with something he hadn't been able to express in years: warmth. A warmth that seemed to unlock a dam inside him, setting loose a torrent of emotions that he'd come to think of himself as incapable of feeling. Suddenly, he remembered all that he had ever felt for this woman – the excitement of seeing her for the first time, the sheer, intoxicating joy of being in her presence, even the sympathy he felt for her past, a past that mirrored his own grief-filled childhood in so many ways.

For a moment, she seemed wary of his compassion, but then she looked up to meet his gaze, a curious expression on her face. Grasping his other hand, she said simply, "I know."

"Jordan, I know that I…"

But before he could finish, they were interrupted by a knock on the door, effectively breaking the enchantment winding around them. Both jumped back as if stung, hurrying to opposite ends of the compartment as the porter entered, smiling apologetically.

"Sorry I'm so late, ma'am, sir," he said, nodding to them each in turn. "Had to help round up those dogs before we set the compartment loose."

"Loose?" Woody asked curiously.

"Yep. The Ale and Quail Club'll be sitting by the side of the tracks until they dry out or until someone takes pity on 'em and picks 'em up."

Jordan let out a nervous burst of laughter at this, before moving aside to let the porter get on with his work. While he set about pulling down the tiny bed and outfitting it with sheets, pillows, and blankets, Jordan and Woody fidgeted restlessly in their respective corners, sneaking glances when they thought the other wasn't looking and turning away in embarrassment when caught.

Finally, the porter finished, and with a respectful salute at Woody's tip, he began to exit the room. Before he could leave, though, he turned with his hand on the door to ask, "Newlyweds, aren't you?"

Both blushed furiously at this thought, tripping over their words in search of a coherent response.

"I…we…that is, uh, I didn't think…we aren't…"

"I thought so. You can always tell with newlyweds, the way they look," he said sympathetically. "Well, have a good night." And with a knowing wink, he was gone.

"Well, that was…"

"…Awkward."

"To say the least."

They paused, smiling uncomfortably.

"Woody, I…" she began

"Jordan…" he began at the same time.

"I just wanted to say thanks," she paused, "thanks for being here with me."

"Anytime."

Gathering her by the shoulders, he placed a gentle kiss on her forehead.

"Goodnight, Jordan."

"Goodnight."