by Bobbi Smith
The ranch owner was completely sympathetic to his situation, but business was business. “You know there’s no one else I’d rather sell to, but I can’t accept your offer as it is. If you find a way to come up with the money, get back in touch with me. I won’t be travelling on to Savannah to join my family until the first.”
Blade’s face was an emotionless mask. He knew it would be next to impossible for him to come up with the necessary amount of money any time soon. “I’ll do that. If you change your mind, I’ll be at the St. Louis Hotel until tomorrow morning.”
Blade stood to go and Clancy did, too, extending his hand in friendship. “You’re my friend. I’m sorry we can’t come to terms.”
“So am I. I’ll see what I can do about coming up with the extra money.”
Clancy nodded in response.
“I’ll be in touch.” Blade strode from the dining room, his mood black.
The men’s deep voices carried to Angel and Lucky’s fable as they negotiated. When Masters’ offer to buy the ranch was turned down and he left the dining room, Angel could see that he was disappointed. Having heard most of what was said, Angel calculated that the ranch owner was in dire need of cash up front; and, as she watched Masters leave, it dawned on her that her problem had been solved. Masters was a hired gun. She needed someone to help her escape from Michael’s men. Masters needed money. She had money. It was an arrangement made in heaven, and she offered up a prayer of thanks.
Angel knew she would have to act quickly. She couldn’t risk letting Masters get away. She’d heard him say he was staying at the St. Louis Hotel, so she would seek him out and make him an offer he couldn’t refuse. She would hire him to escort them to California for the sum of $5000, the exact amount he needed to complete the deal on the ranch.
“Are you finished eating, Lucky? It’s about time to go back upstairs,” Angel asked, eager to get him safely tucked in bed for the night so she could carry out her bold plan.
“Yeah.” Lucky had one big bite of cake left, so he stuffed it all in his mouth at once and then pushed away from the table.
Angel sighed and cast a glance heavenward. “The cake must be very good,” she observed drolly.
“Um, yeah, it is,” he mumbled, crumbs escaping as he grinned at her. In the way of boys, he wiped his mouth with the back of his arm.
“That’s what napkins are for,” she instructed in low tones as they started from the table.
“Oh,” was all Lucky replied.
When they reached their room, Angel informed him that she had to go out again for a while. She stayed only long enough to put the boy to bed, then donned a dark cloak. A quick glance in the mirror told her she looked suitably demure in the nondescript garment, so she left the room with the promise to return soon.
Lucky waited until he’d heard Angel move off down the hall before he got up out of bed again. He knew ladies didn’t go out unescorted in the evening, and he wondered what was so important that she would have to go out alone. He remembered her nervousness when they’d first reached port the day before, and today she’d been upset when she’d returned from checking on their passage to California. She hadn’t told him much, only that their departure had been delayed for a few days. He’d assumed at the time that she was upset because it would take them longer to get to her fiancé. Now, he doubted that that was the cause. Something was wrong, but he didn’t know what.
Lucky began to dress. He couldn’t admit to himself that he was worried about Angel. He told himself he was following her because he wanted to see what she was doing and because if anything happened to her he wouldn’t get paid.
Lucky hurried from the room and reached the landing overlooking the lobby just as Angel went outside. He continued his pursuit as casually as he could, glad that no one noticed him. Lucky reached the door as she entered a hired carriage, but he heard her direct the driver to take her to the St. Louis Hotel. The vehicle sped off, and he followed on foot. Angel had pointed the hotel out to him when they’d first arrived in town, and he was sure he could find it again. A city was a city, and he was no stranger to the streets.
Angel was nervous as she rode in the hired conveyance on the short trip to Masters’ hotel. She knew her scheme would outrage polite society, but it was far too late to worry about propriety. Her situation was serious, and it called for action.
If the gossip she’d heard proved right, Blade Masters was a mercenary man. He hired himself out for a fee, and she was willing to pay that fee. Angel thought of the handsome gunman and realized she was going to have to be very careful. Attractive though he might be, he was still a hired gun who sold himself to the highest bidder. She could never trust him, for his allegiance was only to money. Knowing that ahead-of-time helped, and she was determined that, should he take the job, their relationship would be strictly business.
The carriage drew to a stop before Masters’ hotel, and Angel descended with the driver’s help. She paid him, then went inside. Thoughts of Christopher gave her the strength she needed as she bravely walked up to the front desk.
“Excuse me, but could you tell me Mr. Masters’ room number please?” Angel asked the clerk.
Surprised, Cyril glanced up quickly to find himself staring at a lovely, young woman of obvious breeding and culture. She was the prettiest female he’d seen in quite a while, with her pale hair and green eyes; and he couldn’t help but wonder what a woman of her quality wanted with Masters. “Um ... well, yes. Mr. Masters’ room is on the top floor, but I’m afraid he isn’t in.”
“Oh.” Angel was disappointed, and it showed in her expression. “I see.” She considered leaving a message, but decided against it.
Seeing her distress, Cyril quickly offered, “Mr. Masters isn’t in his room, but he is in the bar. Would you like me to get him for you?”
Angel graced the little man with her brightest smile. “Yes, thank you.”
“Who shall I tell him is calling?” he inquired with authority. He found something vaguely familiar about her, but he couldn’t say what it was.
“Tell him Miss Angela Roberts is here, and that I have an important business offer for him.”
“If you’ll have a seat, I’ll be right back.” There were no other guests at the desk needing his help right then, so Cyril went to get Masters for her himself.
Angel glanced around the spacious lobby and spied a loveseat nestled in a quiet area to one side of the staircase. As tense as she was about propositioning Masters, she was also concerned about running into Watkins again. The loveseat’s location afforded her a good view of the lobby so she’d be able to see trouble coming if the situation arose. She wasn’t about to take any unnecessary chances.
Blade’s mood had been black as he’d returned to his hotel. He’d been about to enter the lobby when he’d heard a man call out to him. Recognizing immediately the voice of the sheriff, he’d sworn silently to himself as he’d stopped and turned to face the man who’d provided him with such wonderful accomodations the night before.
“Good evening, Sheriff Tannen.”
“Evening, Masters. I see you’re still in town.”
Blade’s anger and frustration had suddenly changed into a great and heavy weariness. “I’ve just been finishing up my business.”
“So you’ll be gone in the morning.” It hadn’t been a question, but a statement.
“I said I would, and I’m a man of my word.”
“I know that, and I’m sorry things have to be this way.” Tannen’s respect for Masters had grown since he’d had dealings with him. Masters had a cool head and common sense, and Tannen wished him a long life—as long as he lived it far away from New Orleans.
“You don’t have to explain. I understand.” Blade had gone on into the hotel.
Tannen had watched him go, thinking it was a shame that the man would probably never find any peace.
Once inside the hotel, Blade had headed straight for the bar and ordered a double bourbon. When the bartender had s
et it before him, he’d taken a deep drink and savored its searing warmth. He’d been draining the last remnants from the glass when it finally began to take effect. His frustration over losing the ranch hadn’t lessened any, but his mood mellowed and the tightness in his shoulders eased. He was on his third bourbon when the hotel’s desk clerk approached him.
“Mr. Masters? There’s someone at the desk asking to see you.”
For a moment, Blade brightened. He thought Clancy had changed his mind and had come to accept his offer. “Is it a Mr. Barrett?”
Cyril looked puzzled. “No, sir. This is a lady, a Miss Angela Roberts.”
“I don’t know any Angela Roberts.” He scowled.
“She’s blonde and quite pretty, if I may say so, sir. She mentioned that she had a business matter to discuss with you.” Cyril related all he knew with great eagerness. Busybody that he was, his beady little eyes were bright with interest.
“And she’s alone?” he asked in growing disgust. This wasn’t the first time a woman had heard about his reputation and brazenly sought him out, and he knew it wouldn’t be the last.
“Yes, sir. Shall I tell her you’ll be right out?”
“No, Cyril. Tell her I’m not interested in any kind of offer she has to make. Just tell her to go away.”
The clerk was clearly shocked. “Go away, sir?” He would have gladly met with that young woman any place, any time.
“That’s what I said.”
The firmness of his tone sent the clerk scurrying back to the lobby. Angel saw him emerge from the bar alone, it suddenly dawned on her that the gunfighter might refuse to meet with her. Angel hadn’t considered that possibility before, and she began to worry.
“Umm, Miss Roberts,” Cyril began nervously, “Mr. Masters sent a message for you.”
“Yes?”
“He said that he wasn’t interested in your ‘offer’ and that you should go away.”
“He said what?” Angel stared at the clerk in annoyance.
“I’m sorry. He made it perfectly clear that he doesn’t want to talk to you. Perhaps you’d better go?” he suggested.
“I’ll go all right,” she seethed under her breath, realizing in anger what Masters thought she was ‘offering.’ She stood up and, assuming her most dignified manner, strode straight for the entrance to the bar.
“But Miss Roberts, ladies aren’t allowed in there,” Cyril protested, chasing after her. His voice trailed off as she turned and pinned him with a frosty glare.
Angel continued her march into the men’s sanctuary unopposed; but Cyril, unable to control his curiosity, raced to the doorway to watch.
Chapter Seven
Angel took several bold steps into the bar and then paused to let her gaze sweep the room in search of Blade Masters. She was conscious of men staring at her, shocked, but she didn’t care. She was looking for Masters, and she wasn’t leaving until she’d talked to him. It took her only a second to recognize him. Tall, lean, and magnetically attractive, he was unmistakable even though he stood at the bar with his back to her. No other man in the room exuded the same sense of power—only Masters. Knowing there could be no turning back now, Angel took a deep breath and walked straight toward him.
As soon as Blade had sent the desk clerk away, he’d put all thoughts of the woman from his mind. He’d expected his cold dismissing message to discourage even the most ardent of ‘admirers.’ Ordering another bourbon, Blade was about to take a drink when he noticed that the room had gone very quiet. Sam, the bartender, stared past him, a look of shock on his florid features.
“Ma’am, you’re going to have to go back out into the lobby,” Sam announced sternly. “Ladies are not permitted in here.”
Startled at such brazenness—a men’s only room, the hotel bar was off-limits to women—Blade turned to see who the insolent female could be. He froze. The woman behind him was the same woman he’d seen at dinner. The one fleeting glimpse he’d had of her in the dining room had told him she was pretty; but now, up close, there was no mistaking the loveliness of her features. Though her hair was pulled back in a severe bun at the nape of her neck, its color was a glorious blonde that looked as if it were spun of gold and sunlight. How would it look, Blade wondered, if he pulled the pins from it and let it fall loosely around her shoulders in a pale shimmering cape? Or, better yet, how would it look spread out on a pillow in bed? He thought her mouth infinitely kissable. She was a feast for any man’s eyes. Suddenly, the idea of being with a woman didn’t seem like such a bad one after all.
“I have no intention of leaving,” Angel replied as she slanted Blade a challenging look. “I’m here to speak with Mr. Masters, and I intend to stay until I do.”
“You’re here to see Masters?” Sam repeated in amazement. He glanced at Blade questioningly.
“That’s right,” she affirmed, looking Blade squarely in the eye now. “Well, Mr. Masters?”
A slow, knowing smile carved its way across Blade’s darkly handsome face. She was making no secret of the fact that she wanted him, and she was gorgeous. Perhaps a little brazenness in a woman wasn’t such a bad thing either. Her aggressiveness might prove interesting in bed. His smile broadened at the thought, and a flame of desire flickered in his silver gaze as he looked her over once more.
Finally, he spoke. “It’s all right, Sam. I’ll handle it.”
“All right, sir.” For Blade Masters the rules could be broken.
“Can I buy you a drink?” Blade offered, still smiling as he thought ahead to the night to come. Maybe this trip to New Orleans wouldn’t prove a totally useless endeavor.
“No, thank you,” Angel refused primly. The look on Masters’ face told her what he was thinking, and she stiffened, anxious to dissuade him of any such notion. She had no amorous interest in him. Her purpose was business.
Her refusal surprised Blade. The women who sought him out ordinarily wanted a good time. “Well, then, what exactly can I do for you, Miss—?”
“Roberts,” Angel answered succinctly, fighting the urge to turn on her heel and run. She told herself she’d handled worse than Blade Masters. She’d dealt with Michael. “Miss Angela Roberts.” A quick glance told her that all eyes were still eagerly upon them, all ears trying to hear their conversation. With a professional efficiency, Angel continued, “I have a business offer I’d like to present to you, but I think it would be best if we spoke somewhere a little more private.”
“I agree with you completely,” Blade responded smoothly. He motioned toward a table in the back of the room. “That one looks quite secluded. We should be able to talk there without any interruptions.” He lowered his voice to give emphasis to the last word.
His confident, knowing attitude annoyed Angel, and she anticipated great pleasure in disappointing him. He was obviously accustomed to women fawning over him, not that she had to wonder why. He was the best-looking man she’d ever seen; and, as they made their way toward the table, she was extremely conscious of him walking close behind her. It was an unnerving sensation for her to be so physically aware of him. She’d never had this kind of reaction to anyone before. It took an effort to hold herself to a demure pace and not skitter out of his way as she wanted to. This was business, she told herself. He was a man who hired himself out for money, and she had money.
When they reached the table, Blade offered, “Let me help you with your cloak.”
Angel would have preferred to keep it on, but to refuse would have shown him her uncertainty, for it was very warm in the bar. She loosened the tie, and Blade slipped the protective garment from her shoulders, his fingers grazing her shoulders as he did so. It was an innocent enough gesture, but at that simple touch, Angel’s pulse quickened. When he reached around and drew out a chair for her, she was glad to slip into the seat and distance herself from his overpowering nearness. She graced him with a calm smile that belied the nervousness that gripped her.
Blade was still standing over her, her cloak slung across his ar
m, when she smiled up at him, and her smile stopped him cold. He’d been with many pretty women in his time, but never before had a simple smile seared through him like a branding iron. He stared down at her, momentarily entranced. She was beautiful, but there was something else about her that captivated him, something in her eyes—an innocence, almost—and it puzzled him. Certainly she was no innocent. She’d come here looking for him; she’d sought him out. Angela Roberts was a woman who knew what she wanted, and Blade planned to see that she got it.
He gave himself a mental shake, breaking the spell that had briefly bound him. He sat down, assessing her. Her figure was as perfect as her face—her breasts, full; her waist, small. He was going to enjoy the night ahead. Reaching out to take her hand, Blade asked, “Now, tell me, Miss Roberts, what exactly did you want from me?”
Angel had intended to set a formal tone, but the moment his hand closed over hers, her heart gave a wild jolt. Startled, her eyes widened in surprise.
“Mr. Masters—” she started to protest.
“Are you sure you wouldn’t like something to drink?” he urged. He could sense a tenseness in her and thought a drink would help.
Angel pulled herself together. He was attractive, true, but her interest in him was purely professional. She had to stop this right now. She had to get control of the situation.
“No, Mr. Masters, I don’t want anything to drink,” Angel began again, this time more forcefully, “and the first thing you can do for me is to ...” She had meant to tell him to let her go, but he had begun to caress her palm and the sensitive inside of her wrist with an accomplished touch, and she was temporarily speechless.
“Yes?”
The leer she had detected in his smile had moved to his voice. The suggestiveness immediately brought Angel to her senses. She firmly pulled her hand free.
He looked at her, smiled knowingly, and leaned back in his chair. “Most women like that.” He seemed amused.
