Joe expelled an angry breath. “I might as well, for all the good I’m doing myself sober.”
Joe and Roy walked off toward town. Ham Russell leaned against the tree and took out his makings. Tristera’s kissing Joe had upset him. She didn’t have the time of day for him, but she could kiss Joe Dart because she thought he had money. If Joe kept chasing her, he’d probably catch her, and one day Ramon Rodriguez would be Ham’s boss’s brother-in-law.
Ham sure hated that thought. It wasn’t fair that men with money and land got all the best women. And that a piece of offal like Ramon could move up in the world and Ham couldn’t. He hadn’t spent his life fighting Indians so little bastards like Ramon could strut around.
Ham pushed away from the tree and walked into the darkness. Maybe he’d find Tristera himself.
Walking felt better, anyway. He wasn’t like them cowboys who wouldn’t walk a foot farther than they had to. He’d been raised in Ohio, where it was good to walk.
He angled toward the creek.
Samantha danced the first dance with Steve. One of the men who occasionally courted her cut in. She saw glimpses of Steve, though, lively and smiling, twirling other women. She didn’t like the feeling this gave her and tried not to watch, but her gaze kept following his lithe form.
Rathwick cut in. “Did you find Tristera?” she asked.
“I found her.” His grim tone discouraged further questions.
The dance ended. Samantha waved away her suitors and walked to the table, where a tub of lemonade floated a big block of ice, brought in on the train from Phoenix, no doubt. She scooped a dipperful of the cool liquid. “Would you mind pouring me one of those?” Steve asked from behind her.
Smiling, Samantha gave him a lemonade. “Enjoying the dance?” she asked.
“Yes. It’s been a long time since I’ve had this much fun,” he said, his grin making him look younger and more boyish.
She finished her lemonade and put the cup down. “I need a breath of fresh air,” she said, fanning herself with her hand.
Steve followed her away from the crowd. The ground where they had danced was packed down, but a gray cloud of dust hung over the revelers. Hanging lanterns ringed the noisy throng, casting little light into the middle of the horde. In the distance children yelled, probably playing blindman’s buff.
“You could earn money building a dance hall,” she said.
“I seem to have my hands full now.”
“Yes, you do.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked softly.
“Nothing. Just agreeing with you.”
“So,” Steve said, pausing, “I hear you’re going to see Lando tomorrow.”
Samantha had hoped he wouldn’t find out, but since he had…“Yes,” she said firmly.
Steve scowled. “I know this is none of my business, but I have to tell you that I got some strong feelings from him when he was at the ranch.”
“Such as?”
“He’s like a wounded bear right now. He may love you, but even you might not be completely safe with him,” Steve said cautiously.
“Lance would never hurt me,” she said firmly.
“Not if he could help himself, maybe, but…uh…I’ve known and worked with men all my life. Men aren’t like women. We’ve got some special problems.”
Samantha laughed. “Like what?”
“We have needs that keep bothering us…whether we’ve got a woman or not. And sometimes, anger makes those needs more insistent.”
“So. You think he might just whisk me off to his lair and…”
The thought of it made Steve angry. “It’s not funny.”
The look in his eyes challenged her to be as frank as he’d been. She wanted to say something outrageous, but her mind went blank. “It isn’t like you think,” she whispered.
Steve could see she was attached to her own reasons, so he backed off.
“I don’t want to talk about it anymore,” she said.
“Then we won’t,” he said, agreeing. He turned to leave.
“Steve, wait.”
He stopped and faced her. “Why the hell should I?”
Light from the lanterns swaying in the breeze moved shadows over his face, so she couldn’t see his expression. The shadows revealed a small vertical dent in front of his ear. The rest of his skin was smooth, probably slightly damp from the exertion of dancing. She wanted suddenly to touch it. It was very upsetting to want such a thing given her love for Lance, but her fingers tingled with the desire to stroke Steve’s face. It felt awkward to be so aware of her love and longing for Lance and feel this attraction to Steve Sheridan. Maybe something was wrong with her.
“What do you want from me, Samantha Forrester?”
Steve’s voice was husky. The sound caused a quickening in her belly. His hands reached out and caught her by the shoulders and shook her, gently, in contrast to the fierceness of his holding her and the fierceness she sensed in him. “What?” he demanded, shaking her again.
Mute, Samantha shook her head. The look in his eyes told her he wanted her.
“I guess I want to enjoy you while I wait for Lance,” said Samantha, “but I don’t want you to have any strings on me when he comes for me. It’s callous of me, but knowing that doesn’t stop me.”
“You’re honest like a man,” he whispered.
“I’ve been lonely and miserable too long. You might want me for the moment, but I know you’re a tumbleweed. When it’s time for you to move on, you will say a graceful—possibly even a grateful—good-bye.”
His hands tightened on her shoulders. “What if you’re wrong about me?”
His face, half hidden in shadow, looked mysterious, handsome, and inaccessible. She could feel the power of her ill-fated attraction for him all the way to her toes. “I’m not. In the meantime, though, you might kiss me,” she whispered.
“I could kiss you, but what if I fall hopelessly in love with you? What will happen to me if he doesn’t let you come back tomorrow?”
“I don’t know. I just want you to kiss me,” she said, her face like a beautiful, sweet flower. The thought of kissing her caused his blood to burn through his veins.
“I’m a simple man, Samantha Forrester. I don’t stir up a ‘hornets’ nest unless I’ve figured out how I’m going to survive the attack.”
“I’m not a hornet’s nest. I’m a woman,” she whispered, her skin glowing in the moonlight. Her voice was sweet and tremulous, her eyes dark, haunting.
“There’s a difference?” he asked. She laughed, and he realized how much he loved the rich, mocking sound of her laughter. It made him feel both better and worse.
“You’ve kissed me before. Were you so much braver then, or have I become less attractive?”
“Neither. In town I was leaving, never to see you again. I couldn’t leave without that kiss.”
“And down by the creek?”
“The moonlight got to me.”
“Apparently the moon no longer works, so if I want to be kissed, I have to fire you?”
Steve laughed, and Samantha’s expression changed from teasing to hurt. She turned away, but he had seen, and seeing that flash of emotion caused an answering ache in him. He knew she felt rejected, and he couldn’t stand it. He reached out and grabbed her wrist. She jerked it away. He caught her by the waist and pulled her into his arms. She lifted her fist to hit him. He caught her arm and lowered his head to kiss her.
“No!”
Steve immobilized her and stopped her protests with his mouth. He kissed her until she stopped fighting, then raised his head. “Yes,” he said, his voice harsh.
Samantha pressed her face against his chest. She felt weak and strong at the same time. Her body wanted to melt into his, to be swallowed up by him.
Steve lifted her chin, found her mouth again, and this time she surged up to hold him. His kiss opened something in her. She felt filled up with sweetness and melting and heat.
The music in
the background stopped. Suddenly, over the heavy hum of her own body, she heard chanting.
“Lunger! Lunger! Hope you die of hunger!”
Samantha struggled out of Steve’s arms. “Oh, no!” she gasped.
“What is it?”
“Nicholas!”
She broke free and ran. Steve ran after her.
Halfway to the creek, Ham saw a group of boys fighting and stopped to watch. It was Nicholas Forrester and a playmate, facing six bigger boys. Ham recognized the biggest one as Claire Colson’s young’un.
“You play with him, you’re gonna catch it!” Colson’s boy yelled at Nicholas’s friend. The youngster looked at Nicholas, then shrugged and ran away. Now it was just Nicholas against the six boys. The Colson boy picked up a stick.
“You better stay out of this town, if you know what’s good for you,” he said, walking forward and menacing the Forrester boy with the stick. To his credit, Nicholas stood his ground. Ham was just about to break it up when he saw Ramon Rodriguez come running from the creek.
“Hey, you boys quit that!” Ramon yelled.
Ham reached down and grasped the handle of his revolver. Footsteps sounded behind him, but it was only Piney, humming to himself. Piney stopped beside him.
“Them boys fighting?” Piney asked.
Ramon was exchanging taunts with the six boys. Ramon wore a gun, but that didn’t seem to scare the boys. They knew he wouldn’t use it on them.
An idea came to Ham. Piney had an advantage most folks didn’t. Because he was a known fool, he could walk right up to just about anyone, and they wouldn’t get down on him the way they might a man with all his faculties. Ham put his arm around Piney’s bony shoulders.
“Hey, Piney, you remember the thump-thump game we played with those hollow cardboard tubes at the picnic today?”
Piney grinned. “Yes, sir, Mr. Ham.”
“Well, I want you to play it again. All you have to do is thump Ramon a couple of times and you win the prize.”
“What prize is it, Mr. Ham?”
Ham smiled and squeezed Piney’s bony shoulder. “It’s a pint of ice cream all to yourself.”
Piney loved ice cream. He grinned and touched his hair, which smelled of the pomade his employer made him wear to town. “This won’t make Miz Chila mad at me, will it?” He’d lived around pranksters all his life. He’d learned to be careful of anything another man told him to do.
“Naw!” Ham walked Piney back to where he’d seen a three-foot piece of two-by-four earlier today. It was still there. Ham picked up the club, hefted its weight a moment, and handed it to Piney.
“Ramon likes to play the thump-thump game.” Ham could hear the boys and Ramon yelling insults. “Let me show you where Ramon is,” Ham said.
“You boys get back to your mamas!” Ramon bellowed, taking Nicholas by the arm to lead him away before one of the children lost his temper and hurt someone. As he turned, a dark figure of a man loomed up between him and the lighter sky. The man’s arm raised and smashed down. A sharp pain jolted from his head to his knees, buckling them. He sank to his knees, stunned, momentarily blinded, and unable to rise. Dimly he heard Nicholas struggling with someone. He willed his legs to react, his arms to strike out, but they would not.
Nicholas yelled. Ramon’s vision returned enough so he could see the man raise the club again. Ramon remembered the gun in his holster, clawed at it, and felt its reassuring coolness and heaviness in his hand. He lifted, aimed, and fired at point-blank range—and felt grateful for the small, sharp recoil against his palm. The intruder staggered and fell.
The boys stopped yelling and started running, scattering in all directions. Ramon struggled to his feet and tried to focus his blurring eyes on the man…lying so still on the ground. He could hear sounds of people running toward him. He tried to straighten, and finally his legs worked. Panting, he touched Nicholas’s arm.
“Are you all right, niño?”
“Yeah.”
“What’s going on out there?” a man yelled.
“Those kids,” Ramon said, pointing after the kids who had run away, “harassed Nicholas. Then a man attacked me from behind. I had to shoot him.”
Cautiously men walked closer. “That you, Ramon?” The voice sounded like Marshal Daley.
“Sí, señor.”
Within seconds Ramon was surrounded by dozens of silent men. Ham Russell stepped out of the crowd, knelt beside the fallen man, and looked up at Marshal Daley. “Dead,” he said flatly.
Ramon’s heart sank. Daley turned him. “Why’d you kill him?”
“It was me or him, I tell you.”
“I doubt that,” Ham Russell said, elbowing his way through the crowd. “You know who this is?” he demanded furiously.
“No.”
“It’s Piney, you little bastard.”
“Piney?” The blood drained from Ramon’s heart. Piney was old, and harmless as spit. He turned to the marshal. “I tell you, señor, that he attacked me, hit me so hard my knees buckled.”
Men muttered among themselves. Ramon explained to the marshal. Nicholas told what had happened as well, but the muttering grew louder.
“Piney didn’t no more attack Ramon than I did. I say get a rope,” a man in the back yelled.
Daley turned to the crowd. “There’ll be no ropes.”
Ham Russell waved his arms angrily. “Ramon shot and killed Piney. A rope is the least of what we should do to the little bastard.” He turned and hit Ramon in the mouth.
The sudden blow jolted Ramon so bad he fell. He started to get up, but lying beside Piney made him realize what he’d done. He just lay there, feeling awful and waiting to see what they were going to do to him.
“I cain’t abide a mean-tempered man like that,” Ham yelled. “I say we hang the lying little bastard!”
Fear and rage brought Ramon to his feet. He launched himself into the air and landed on Russell, hitting him midchest and knocking him back against the man behind him.
“Hey!” Russell yelled, flying backward.
“Ramon’s gone crazy!”
Men tackled Ramon and pulled him off Russell, who struggled to his feet, cursing. Blood poured from his mouth into his beard. Ramon struggled, but the men held him tight.
“That little son of a bitch tried to kill me! I say we put a stop to his damned temper fits once and for all!” Russell yelled.
Cries of “Yeah!” came from all around.
Held securely, Ramon looked from face to face. He couldn’t believe this was happening.
“Steady, boy. I’m not going to let them hang you,” Daley said. “Let ’im go!” he yelled at the men holding Ramon. “He’s due a trial.”
“Like hell he is!”
Daley could tell the crowd was close to turning into a killing mob. He lifted his gun and aimed it at one of the men holding Ramon. Cursing, the man let go. The other one did, too.
Ramon wanted to trust Daley, but he was only one man. Few of the men in the crowd carried guns at their hips, except Ham Russell. Ramon had dropped his gun after shooting Piney. It could be anywhere.
“You can’t stop ’em,” Ramon said, backing away from Daley.
Ramon saw the señora and Steve Sheridan run from the dance toward the back of the crowd.
“What’s happened?” the señora asked, her sweet voice rising above the murmurings of the angry men.
The men turned toward her—and Ramon took that moment to push his way into the crowd, so Russell wouldn’t be able to shoot him without shooting other men as well. Ramon saw a pistol in the holster of one of the few men packing guns. He grabbed it and aimed it at the horseman.
“Get off the horse, señor!”
“Now, don’t go adding horse thievery to your other sin, Ramon,” Daley cautioned.
“Get off!” Ramon shouted.
The man dismounted. Ramon sprang into the saddle, turned the horse east, and kicked him into a fast run.
“Doesn’t anyone have a damned gun?
” Ham yelled. He and Daley had guns, but they were in the middle of the crowd. They’d have to shoot ten men to clear a path.
Daley grinned in spite of himself. Twenty years ago, few men would have come to a dance without hardware. But this was 1889, and no one expected trouble, just an opportunity to dance and flirt a little.
“He’s getting away!” Ham yelled in frustration, elbowing a path through the men around him.
“What the hell can we do?” one man bellowed back. “I ain’t got wings or bullets.”
At last, Ham broke clear of the crowd. He leveled his handgun at Ramon’s fleeing back and pulled the trigger. Steve pushed the man next to him into Russell. Russell cursed and pushed the man aside and continued firing at Ramon until he emptied his gun.
Chapter Thirteen
“You’re going to what?” Samantha demanded.
“Join the posse,” Steve said, frowning. In the light of a hanging lantern, his face was in shadow, but his tone and stance were those of the stubborn, inexplicable male. His mind was made up. He would do as he pleased. A small fury rose in Samantha.
“And what about Nicholas’s safety? What if those men come back and try to kill him again?”
“According to the report I heard they were only boys.”
“Whose side are you on, anyway?”
Steve pondered his answer. Samantha was frightened and outraged on Nicholas’s behalf and worried about Ramon. He didn’t want her mad at him, but he didn’t want Ramon to face that posse alone in the mood they were in.
“Rathwick will protect Nicholas. Most posses are like short dogs in high grass, but every now and then one gets lucky. If they find Ramon, would you rather someone was there who wanted to see him get a fair trial—or just twenty or so men who think a cottonwood tree needs another decoration?”
“What can one man do against twenty?” she demanded. “I know he didn’t kill Piney, at least not like they say he did, in cold blood, for no reason…”
It would do no good to fight with her. Steve turned back to his horse, tightened Calico’s cinch, and mounted. Steve turned Calico and kneed him into a gallop. Samantha watched until he was out of sight, lost in the milling posse.
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