“Oh, heavens, no. Some of my best friends were men when I was a child.”
“The same ones who taught you to play poker?”
Max recalled their conversation about the sailors in her father’s shipyard. “I’m not sure I would call them friends.”
She shrugged. “As a child, I didn’t see anything wrong with playing cards. Besides poker, they taught me how to tie knots and play mumblety-peg. Now that was great fun.”
“What person in his right mind would teach you how to throw a knife?”
“Didn’t you ever play mumblety-peg with Monty?”
“Of course we did, but we were bo—”
Her look stopped him. He held up his hands in mock surrender.
“I give.”
“When I think back on it now, I believe Captain Abram’s men were actually teaching me how to protect myself. They simply couched it as a game.”
She handed him the knife she’d been casually holding.
“He made the knife for me, lightweight and with a slim handle.”
Max balanced the knife in his much larger hand.
“But with a long enough blade to do damage.”
“Thankfully, I’ve never needed to use it. Except to start fires, of course.” She had the
audacity to grin. Bunching up her skirt, she slid the slim blade back into the sheath. Even though she’d turned slightly away from him, Max knew where that knife was going and swallowed hard. He tried to think of something to say to take his mind off her long, shapely legs.
“What other secrets are you keeping that I should know about?”
She turned back to him.
“Does it bother you so much that women might know things you don’t?”
“Of course not.”
She raised a brow in doubt.
He thought for a minute.
“I really mean it. I don’t think knowledge is the exclusive right of the male population, although a majority of my sex would probably disagree. I just don’t like surprises, that’s all.”
She stared at him for the longest time, and he wondered what she thought. He was becoming quite used to talking openly and honestly with her, and he treasured that. He didn’t have to pretend, didn’t have to say he liked something when he hated it.
She finally broke the silence. “That’s all the secrets I’m going to tell you until you explain how you managed to get us to this creek in the dark.”
Feeling safer on impersonal ground, Max scooted closer and tilted her chin back.
“See where the moon is?”
He pointed along her line of sight. At her nod, he continued. “The moon always rises in the east, just like the sun. That helps you determine the basic directions. Travel at night is dangerous unless you know the terrain. Since we started from Denver later than I would have liked, we needed to finish in the dark to make it this far.”
“Oh.”
Abby’s breath fanned his cheek, and he began to forget all his self-imposed promises not to deal with her until they solved this mystery. It was hard not to pay attention to the curve of her breast in the moonlight, or the way the fire played off the highlights in her hair.
“What if there is no moon?”
Her question came to him on the breeze, and Max forced himself to think rational thoughts.
“On moonless nights, you can use the stars to navigate. Do you see that group over there?”
“You mean Ursa Major?”
Max should have known she would know constellations.
“Yes. If you move straight off the end of the bowl, it will point you to the North Star. You’ll never get lost if you can find that star.”
“I am impressed, Mr. Grant. You are a remarkable person.”
“I’ll bet your bloomer-wearing, women’s-rights suffragists don’t know that, do they?”
Abby poked him in the ribs with her elbow, laughing.
“Must you always have the last word? I’ve told you they aren’t mine. We simply share common goals.”
Max loved the sound of her laugh. He would like to keep her happy and laughing for the rest of his days. For once, that line of thinking didn’t seem at all peculiar. When he heard her sigh, he turned to find her frowning up at the stars.
“Problem?”
“I was just realizing how woefully inadequate my education is.”
“How can you say that? I’ve seen some of the books you read.”
“No matter how well read I may be, people like you and Tess know about life.”
She spoke the word as though it were a secret no one else understood. He thought of the underbelly side of life he often waded through to do his job. There were times when he envied Monty’s security and loving wife and family because they were the exact opposite of what he saw.
“Everyone experiences life differently. I guess the best rule of thumb is to try to leave it a little better than you found it.” He wasn’t normally philosophical. He cleared his throat and turned to rummage through the grub sack. He set the frying pan in the coals and cut some fatback into it. He followed that with some potatoes and onion and stirred it all until it began to sizzle. Abby giggled, and he turned his head to look at her over his shoulder.
“What?”
“You can cook. I don’t believe I know one man who has that talent. In fact, I am not sure my father knows exactly where the kitchen is.”
He poured water from his canteen into the coffeepot and added a handful of grounds. He set the pot deep into the flames.
“Not all men are the same, Abby, just as all women aren’t. My stepmother is like you in some ways.”
“Oh?”
Max nodded.
“Jessica loves my father and gave him four children yet she still knows her own mind. She’s quite interested in politics and has insisted my sisters have a broad education. I don’t see anything wrong with girls having an education.”
Abby accepted the plate of food he gave her. He settled next to her to enjoy his own meal.
“I think you would get along quite well with Susan Anthony and Elizabeth Stanton, Max. You are quite liberal-minded about women.” She glanced at him over the rim of her blue enameled coffee cup.
“For a man.”
* * *
It took longer than Max anticipated to get to Central City. The terrain was steep so they kept the horses at a walk. The trail wound along the side of the mountain in hairpin fashion so they looked at the same trees and mountainside most of the day. He knew they would have to camp out again, for he didn’t dare let the horses have their rein once darkness came. When they crested a hill and came to a plateau, he began looking for a campsite. The terrain wasn’t going to get much more level, and all he was really concerned about was water for the horses. He looked across the open space. He would prefer camping under the trees, not in the open.
“This way.”
He reined his horse to the left and they soon reached the cool shade of the pines. He was glad he’d remembered to pack extra blankets. The high altitude meant temperatures would drop come nightfall.
“I hear water,” Abby said when she dismounted. He heard the excitement in her voice. Though she hadn’t complained about two long days in the saddle, she must be exhausted, not to mention dusty and thirsty. He took the reins from her.
“I’ll see to the horses while you go wash. Just be sure to take your gun with you. Fire a shot if there’s a problem.”
Abby stopped digging through her saddlebag and gave him a look.
“What’s wrong? I know you have a gun—you conked me with it that day in the alley, remember?”
“It’s not—”
Max grabbed her arm when she turned to walk away.
“What’s wrong?”
She looked anywhere but at him. Max lifted her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze.
“Abby?”
“It’s not loaded. I don’t know how to shoot it.”
Her voice was so low he leaned close to hear.
>
“You don’t… Why the hell do you carry it?”
“I bought it for protection, never really thinking I would need it. But then that was before I met you.”
“You could have stayed in Denver.”
He said it, but he didn’t mean it. He wanted her with him.
“You need my help to find him.”
Her breath fanned his neck where his shirt collar laid open.
“Who?”
He’d lost the thread of conversation, concentrating instead on the way her eyes seemed to change colors with the darkening shadows, and the rise and fall of her breasts. Their chests would touch if he just pulled her a fraction closer.
“The killer. Your brother. I don’t know…”
Max stopped her ramblings with a kiss. She was far too tempting, and he was far too weak where she was concerned. Abby pressed her body against his, winding her arms around his neck, and he was lost. He slid his tongue over the seam of her lips, inviting her to open for him. When she did, he deepened the kiss, reveling in the heat that surged from her body to his. His hands slid down her back to hold her more tightly against him, letting her feel his arousal, hoping he wouldn’t frighten her, but wanting her to know exactly how he felt.
He would never know where their kiss might have led, for his horse nipped him on the shoulder. He’d let himself forget where he was, a danger he could ill afford. Abby did that to him every damn time. Knocked him so far off kilter he doubted he would ever be normal again. He frowned at her still-closed eyes, lips glistening from his kiss, cheeks bright with passion. She wasn’t to blame. He wanted her desperately. His body ached with unspent passion. But he refused to ruin her life by taking that to which only a loved one had the right. He stepped away and tightened his grip on the reins. He cleared his throat.
“I think I need to teach you how to shoot that gun.”
His comment coincided with the screech of a mountain lion somewhere in the distance. He saw Abby shiver.
“To protect us?”
“To protect you…” He turned away, finishing in a voice too low for her to possibly hear, “…from me.”
Chapter Twelve
Abby was ever so glad to see civilization when they rode into Central City the next afternoon. She would never have admitted it to Max, but riding for three days across the mountains was not exactly her cup of tea. The town surprised her, for she thought most mining towns would be nothing more than canvas tents or rickety wood lean-tos. Instead, Central City boasted brick structures and boardwalks. Max stopped in front of the hotel and dismounted.
“I’ll take care of the horses after we get rooms,” he said, wrapping his reins around the wood railing. Abby dismounted. She clutched the saddle horn while the blood rushed back into her legs, creating tingles and prickles that almost hurt. Max came around his horse to grab her saddlebag.
“Are you going to admit now that we shouldn’t have pushed quite so hard?”
Damn the arrogance in his voice.
“I wanted a bath.”
After spouting independence and women’s rights for three days, she dare not say anything else.
“Uh-huh.”
Abby wasn’t sure if that was a snide uh-huh or a sympathetic one, but at the moment she was too tired to care. She followed him up the steps and into the cool interior of the hotel.
“Welcome to Central City and Teller House Hotel, the second finest hotel west of the Mississippi River,” the clerk boomed. Abby looked around, for the speaker wasn’t that tall, and the enormous high-topped counter almost hid him from view. The lobby of the hotel sported claw-legged chairs covered in red velvet or brocade and there were wood tables with glossy tops. It looked quite elegant.
“Why only the second finest?” she asked when she came to stand next to Max, who was signing the register.
“Well, now, because Mr. Henry Teller built the first Teller House Hotel in 1872 and that was the finest, yes siree.”
The clerk nodded. Abby noticed that while he chatted with her, he eyed Max warily. He looked quite formidable with guns strapped to his hips and a three-day growth of dark beard shadowing his jaw. The clerk didn’t even object when Max flipped the register to a previous page. She tried to put the man at ease.
“What happened to the first Teller House?”
“Well, now, you must not be from around here ’cuz everyone knows most of the buildings in town burned to the ground in ’74.”
“My.” She showed what she hoped was proper concern for the town.
The clerk nodded vigorously.
“Why, in ’73, President Ulysses S. Grant even came here to see Mr. Teller, them being good friends and all.”
She didn’t know what one event had to do with the other, but the clerk must have thought it important. Max apparently didn’t agree, for he took that opportunity to interrupt.
“We need two rooms, complete with baths and clean bedding.”
Abby thought he sounded a trifle curt, but the clerk simply made a note of the room numbers by the names Max wrote and handed him two brass keys. Max threw their saddlebags over one shoulder, collected the keys and cupped Abby’s elbow. He turned her toward the stairs.
“Hope you enjoy your stay in Central City, ma’am.”
She started to answer but Max squeezed her elbow, keeping her in front of him as he climbed the stairs. When they got to the landing and started down the hall, she pulled away.
“That was rude.”
“Dillon’s here.”
He inserted a key, turned the knob and pushed open the door, walking into the room ahead of her. She followed quickly. The room was elegant by any standards. Flocked wallpaper covered the walls in a pretty gold and green pattern. Heavy curtains framed two windows, open at the moment to let in the afternoon breeze. She watched Max peer out one window and then the other, open then close the narrow door to the water closet and jiggle the knob on the door.
“Stay here.”
He left her standing in the middle of the room, but before she could muster the energy to ask a question, he was back.
“I’ll stay in this room. You take the one next door.”
He dropped his saddlebag off his shoulder to the bed before leading her to the door with a number nine on the wooden panel. This time he opened it and let her precede him into the room. The first thing she noticed was that this room was smaller and not nearly so elegant.
In fact, it was fairly drab with plain plastered walls and filmy curtains over the one window. A narrow bed was pushed against one wall and a dresser against the other. A privacy screen stood in the corner, behind which she felt sure was only a chamber pot. She raised a brow in question when Max turned from the window to regard her.
“This room has only one access,” he stated, pointing to the door. “The window is at the side of the building and doesn’t have the porch roof running beneath it.”
“Are you expecting trouble? I thought the whole reason we came to Central City was to follow Dillon.”
“It is. He’s the only lead I have to Monty. At the same time, you didn’t exactly make him happy the last time you sat across a poker table from him. When I’m gone at night, I want to know he doesn’t have access to your room.”
The puzzle pieces fell into place.
“That’s why you were in a hurry to get upstairs. You aren’t wearing any disguise. The clerk wrote numbers beside our names, but if Dillon checks the register, he’ll think I’m next door.”
“As ever, I’m impressed with your intelligence.”
Abby’s stomach turned over every time he smiled at her, but she wasn’t swayed by his compliment.
“Don’t think you can sweet talk me into staying in this hotel room while you go after Dillon. I’m involved in this, too.”
Max came to stand in front of her.
“Could I sweet talk you into anything else, Miss O’Brien?”
The way he drawled the words and said her name made little butterflies take flight in
her stomach. She leaned toward him, but was interrupted by a knock on the door. She thought perhaps Max’s sigh was even more heartfelt than hers. He opened the door for two maids who came in lugging buckets of hot water in each hand. They nodded toward Abby and disappeared behind the screen, where she heard the water splash into a tub. She was somewhat surprised to find such amenities in a mining town, regardless of what the clerk said about it being the second finest hotel this side of the Mississippi.
“I’ll leave you to your bath.” Max followed the young girls to the door. “Lock the door behind me.”
“You won’t go without me, will you?”
“No, although I would like to.” Max scowled. “We’ve got to get Dillon to turn his hand and give us a clue to what happened at the warehouse.” He looked past her at the single window. “I can’t do that without you.”
He closed the door without another word, leaving Abby speechless. She turned the key in the lock, slowly smiling. Max needed her, and he’d even admitted it.
* * *
“The Golden Rose is a little more high-brow than the saloons at the south end of Pine,” Max informed her as they walked down the boardwalk that evening.
“I’m not sure Dillon will frequent it, but it’s more likely than not since this is where the money is.”
Abby fingered the pocket watch she continued to wear around her neck. She knew she shouldn’t be nervous, since Max would be beside her all night, but she’d seen enough of Dillon’s anger to worry for his safety. He squeezed her elbow when they approached the frosted glass doors of the saloon and gambling hall.
“Remember, you just have to make him lose. Don’t try to make him angry, although I have no doubt that will be the result if he does lose. I’ll follow you within minutes.”
She turned to reassure him, smoothing the lapel of his suit coat.
“I’ll be fine.”
The smoky haze and loud music from an off-key piano assaulted her when she walked through the door. The Golden Rose wasn’t very large, and Abby scanned the tables looking for Dillon. Several men looked up at her entrance, and all were giving her more than a second glance. The bartender motioned her over. He eyed the cut of her gown.
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