by Linda Ladd
Suddenly anxious to see her, he started toward the bedroom, but stopped on the landing when Mrs. Parker entered the hall below, both arms full of boxes. He changed course and went to meet her, and she laid most of her purchases on the hall table.
“There you are, sir. Everything's all taken care of.”
“Did you have any trouble?”
Mrs. Parker shook her head as she pulled loose the strings on her bonnet. “No sir, not a bit.”
“Good. Now I have to ask you one more favor. Would you take those up and help Starfire to dress? She's still in the bath, I'd imagine. She's finding it most delightful.”
“I'd be happy to, sir. I'm looking forward to seeing the little lass in decent clothes. And you look a mite better yourself, if I might say so,” she observed tartly.
Tracker laughed, then retired to the den to wait. He found himself pacing impatiently, eager to see Starfire again, and the half hour that passed seemed more like half a day. He turned quickly when Mrs. Parker finally spoke from the hall door. She gave a little shrug as she glanced down at the articles in her hands.
“I'm afraid I couldn't persuade the little one to wear these, sir. Although I did try to explain.”
She held a corset in one hand and a pair of high button shoes in the other. Tracker broke into a grin, not the least bit surprised at Starfire's refusal. If Mrs. Parker had managed to get her to wear the rest of it, she was doing well.
“You did fine, Mrs. Parker. She doesn't need a corset, anyway.”
His housekeeper's face darkened under a crimson blush, but his thoughts were upstairs, and he took the steps two at a time. When he opened the door, he found Starfire staring out the paned window.
“Starfire?”
She turned slowly, refusing to look at him, her face solemn and unhappy. Her gown was pale lavender silk with a low square neckline, and its bodice was tight, trimmed with a soft white ruffling. Lace edged the cuffs and hem, and the color complemented her blond beauty to perfection. Tracker's breath caught as he realized she was even more exquisite than he'd imagined. He closed the door softly, his eyes moving over her figure in open admiration.
“You look beautiful, Starfire.”
She faced him then, her face angry, but her expression faded as she saw his clean-shaven jaw. She stared at his lean, smooth cheeks in astonishment, thinking he looked very handsome, but very different.
“Where is the hair upon your face?”
“I shaved it.”
She didn't speak, studying him as if she didn't really know him.
“How do you like your dress?”
His beard was forgotten then, as she spit out with low, rebellious venom, “I do not like it! It is tight here.” She gestured to her bodice, and Tracker's eyes noted with pleasure the soft swelling of her satiny breasts above the lace. “And all this makes it hard to walk.”
She showedhim, taking a few angry steps down the room, then viciously kicking at her long skirt and petticoats. Her fragile chin tightened into an obstinate slant.
“I hate them. I will not wear them.”
Tracker walked across the room and pulled her resisting body close.
“You'll get used to them, sweet, and you look lovely.”
At her baleful look, he said, “Come, I have a present for you.”
She allowed him to pull her beside him on the bed, her eyes on his naked face, noting for the first time a small cleft in his chin. She resisted the urge to touch it as Tracker spoke.
“Do you remember, Starfire, when I compared your eyes to amethysts?”
Starfire nodded sullenly, pulling petulantly at the tight buttons of the bodice. She stopped, her eyes widening as he took a small velvet case from his pocket, opened it, and raised a slender golden chain before her eyes. On it hung a large amethyst, set in beautiful swirling scallops of gold filigree. She touched it with one finger, staring in fascination as it caught the light and flashed purple fire.
“It is very beautiful.”
Tracker smiled, opening his closed fist to reveal a matching amethyst ring. He took her hand and slipped it on her tapered finger.
She gasped at its beauty, admiring it as she lifted wondering eyes to Tracker.
“Do my eyes really glow with the same fire as these?” He could not speak, nearly losing himself in the depths of the shining orbs she described, then uttered huskily, “Yes, but these stones are not nearly so lovely.”
He fastened the slender chain around her throat, following the large amethyst in fascination as it settled into the shadowed softness between her swelling breasts.
“Come, I'll show you.”
He stood, then led her into the adjoining dressing room, where he guided her to a bench before an ornate goldenframed mirror. Starfire sat down; staring at her reflection in awe, lips parted. She reached out and touched the glass with the tips of her slender fingers. “How can this be, Tracker? I am here, and I am there?”
Not waiting for his answer, she lifted the heavy jewel to a spot near her eyes. After a long moment's comparison, she faced Tracker, where he loomed in the mirror behind her.
“You are right. They are exactly the same.”
Her words were simply honest, and Tracker smiled fondly before he leaned down and drew her into his embrace, as always intoxicated by her sweet warmth.
The three weeks passed much too quickly, and when Tracker sought out Starfire, he was more than reluctant to take her to the scheduled meeting with Huddleston. He found her in the front parlor, and he paused at the door to admire her where she sat quietly beside the fire, her eyes on her folded hands. She was dressed in deep rose, the velvet skirt draped becomingly over a pale pink underskirt of satin. Mrs. Parker had artfully arranged the heavy silver hair into fashionable ringlets, then pinned the shining mass behind one ear, and after a good bit of cajolery, Tracker had persuaded her to wear the small white shoes.
His eyes dropped to the satiny flesh of her breasts, soft and tempting above the lace insert. Much more bare skin than he wished other men to see. She always wore the amethyst necklace, and the heavy stone rose and fell with each rapid breath, alerting Tracker of her anxiety about the coming meeting.
“Are you ready, Starfire?” he asked gently, already regretting that she had to be shared now with others. They'd spent the last weeks wrapped in the wonder of each other's company, Tracker leaving her only occasionally to check on the status of his business. Even then he had rushed back to her eagerly, jealously guarding their time together.
Starfire had not heard him enter the room, and she looked at him quickly, clasping trembling hands tightly in her skirt. He stood at the doorway, big and handsome, and a slight tremor ran through her as she took in his immaculate appearance. Since they'd come to his house, he no longer wore the fringed garments of her people but dressed like a white man. He had told her the names of all his clothes, and she tried to remember them now. But he'd taught her so much in the last weeks she'd begun to wonder if she would ever learn it all.
His coat was a rich blue, with a shorter satin one beneath it. The short one was called a waistcoat, she recalled, and it was the same azure color as his eyes. His pants were dark blue, like his coat, and he wore tall, shiny black boots instead of his knee-high moccasins. His eyes radiated the warmth they so often possessed.
He smiled, but she could not return it. Not with her stomach twisted into painful knots of fear.
“I am very afraid.”
Tracker came to her at once, drawing her up against his broad chest. She slipped her arms around his muscled waist and pressed herself against him.
“There is nothing to fear, I promise. I'll be with you all the time.”
Shivering, she laid her cheek against his coat and closed her eyes.
“You will protect me, for I am your woman,” he heard her whisper fiercely.
It was the only real comfort she had, and Tracker smiled against the top of her soft hair.
“Yes, love, I will. For you are most def
initely my woman,” he promised.
Outside, it was near dusk, and he lifted Starfire into the carriage. Despite his reassurances to her, Tracker was loath to return her to her family. Even though he would remain with her, a vague uneasiness plagued his mind. Perhaps he was just reluctant to share her with anyone else. The last few weeks had been most enjoyable. Even the Parkers hated to see her go, though in the past, Tracker admitted to himself ruefully, they had usually been glad to see the last of his lady friends.
They headed for the Cherokee Hotel, which was located next to the Criterion Saloon, a rowdy establishment frequented by a wild band of young bloods called the Bummers. Both places were owned by Charley Harrison, a man Tracker did not like or trust. As they approached, Tracker wished he'd insisted upon a more genteel rendezvous point; he didn't like the idea of taking Starfire into the seedier sections of town. He still wished she were safe at home with the Parkers, but Huddleston would need to see her with his own eyes before he would reveal the identity of her grandparents. Tracker frowned, tempted greatly to turn around and keep her for his own, and Huddleston be damned. But she had a right to know her own family, and he tried to resign himself to that fact as they drew up before the hotel.
When they alighted, Starfire was still trembling slightly, and he said reassuringly, “I won't let anything happen to you. Ever.” He took her arm and led her across the porch, their footsteps clomping hollowly upon the wooden planking. Tracker held the door open for her, then kept her close by his side, one arm protectively around her waist.
There were several men inside the lobby, and Tracker was suddenly glad for the long velvet cloak that hid her delectable figure from their view. Even now, they stared with gaping mouths at Starfire's beauty, until they noted the forbidding glare of the giant with her. Despite Tracker's fierce appearance, most hazarded a second look, believing Starfire well worth the risk.
They approached the desk, Tracker already annoyed at the young clerk, whose eyes did not leave Starfire's face, even when Tracker spoke to him.
“Is there an Alfred Huddleston registered here?” Tracker repeated harshly.
“Yes sir,” the clerk answered automatically, smiling vacuously at Starfire, until Tracker's eyebrows hunched together in a thunderous scowl.
“He's in room three, upstairs on your right.” He paused, losing his train of thought as Starfire lifted her incredible violet eyes to him. At Tracker's obvious anger, he went on quickly, making a determined effort to keep his eyes off the beautiful lady.
“Are you Tracker?” Tracker nodded curtly, and he finished, “He's been expecting you, sir.”
Tracker took Starfire's arm and propelled her quickly up the stairway, aware of the masculine eyes following her every movement. Room three was halfway down the second-floor corridor, and he banged on the door, louder than he meant to, still irritated by the lascivious attention Starfire had given rise to below. Jealousy was a new sensation to him, and he was beginning to find he did not handle it well at all.
The door opened, and a tall, impeccably dressed man gazed inquiringly at Tracker. He was handsome in a fragile, effeminate way, his black hair oiled and combed slickly back from his broad forehead. His skin was pale, almost pasty, as if he never saw the sun. He seemed too oily and smooth, and Tracker loathed him on sight.
Tracker watched the man's small black eyes linger on Starfire with obvious appraisal, and he sought to draw them back to himself.
“I'm looking for Alfred Huddleston,” he said in a sharp voice.
Recognition sparked deep in the man's eyes, and Tracker's blue eyes narrowed.
“You're Tracker, of course. Please, come in. We've been waiting for you.”
He stepped back for them to enter, and Tracker hesitated, some gut instinct warning wariness. When he moved forward cautiously, Starfire was close beside him. The little attorney, Huddleston, was not in sight, and the other two men in the room were strangers. Tracker eyed them distrustfully. One was very dark, both skin and hair, and his small eyes darted around nervously, while the other man was blond and grotesquely obese with triple chins hanging over his cravat. They sat in chairs near the fireplace, and both regarded Starfire with the same lewd appreciation she'd received in the lobby.
Tracker's uneasiness mounted, and he kept his back to the door, his hand on Starfire's arm.
“Where's Huddleston?” he snapped.
“He was called to St. Louis on a family emergency. We were sent to close the deal for him. I'm Carl Rankin, and these are my associates, Mr. Smythe and Mr. Haynes.”
Tracker glanced briefly at the two men, who nodded a silent acknowledgment. Tracker still did not like the situation, some intense premonition gnawing at him.
“Won't you please sit down? Smythe, why don't you take the lady's cloak?”
The dark one with a tiny pointed mustache came forward. He was small but built like a wrestler, his anthracite eyes gleaming as Tracker removed Starfire's cape. He led Starfire to a small sofa, and Tracker watched for a moment, then sat down at the table with Rankin, missing Smythe's eyes as they raked over Starfire's body with a slow, insulting stare that made her lower her gaze uncomfortably, only secure in the fact that Tracker sat so near.
Tracker kept cold blue eyes on Rankin, suddenly anxious to find out the name of Starfire's family and get her away from the three men watching them so intently.
“Let's get this over with, Rankin. Are you aware of my agreement with Huddleston?”
Rankin shot a sidelong glance at Starfire, whose eyes never left Tracker's face. He leaned forward, lowering his voice slightly.
“It might be best if the young lady did not hear all the details right now. Perhaps you'd allow Smythe to pour her a cup of tea in the dining room?”
Tracker hesitated. He didn't particularly want her to hear everything that was said; there was no need to upset her unnecessarily. He glanced into the dining room, making sure she would remain in sight, then nodded tensely.
“Starfire, go with Mr. Smythe. He'll get you a cup of tea.”
Her face showed alarm, and he said gently, “It's all right. I'll be right here.”
She hesitated, then obeyed, and Tracker watched until she sat at the table in the next room. He made sure Smythe kept his distance, then turned hard eyes back to Rankin when he spoke.
“I must compliment you on a job well done. Although I'm sure you enjoyed it. The girl is more than beautiful,” he said, smirking.
His insinuation angered Tracker, but before he could answer, Rankin pulled an envelope from his inside coat pocket and pushed it toward Tracker.
“Here's your money. Twenty-five hundred. You can count it if you like. You've done a good job, but we can take her from here.”
His smile was unctuous and false, and Tracker ignored the envelope, his blue eyes so dangerous that Rankin tensed.
“She's not going anywhere with you,” Tracker said, his voice low and deadly.
Rankin's gaze dropped to Tracker's hand where it rested on his right thigh near the revolver beneath his coat, then at the fat man beside the fire. He smiled again, but his eyes were watchful, sensing the big man across from him could be ruthless if the need arose.
“You have nothing to worry about. We'll take good care of her.”
Tracker leaned forward, his huge hands curling into tight fists, but he restrained himself from yanking Rankin out of his chair. But he froze then, at Starfire's terrified scream, jerking toward the dining room, where he got a brief glimpse of her struggling with Smythe before the door was slammed, blocking his view.
Tracker's chair skidded backward, crashing into the wall, rage contorting his handsome features into a mask of black fury. He started for her, but Rankin made a grab for his arm. Tracker drew back his fist, slamming it into Rankin's face, sending him sprawling in a heap in the corner. Tracker instinctively felt movement behind him and tried to turn, but something hard and heavy swept the air close to his temple, connecting with a terrible thud that echoed with
hard and steady reverberations inside his skull. Then the darkness came over him quickly and completely, like a heavy black blanket.
Nine
“You'll never guess who's back in town, Henrietta. Logan Cord!”
The matronly dowager had spoken behind her ivory fan, and her companion on the red velvet settee leaned closer for yet another juicy tidbit of gossip. They completely ignored the dancing couples whirling past upon the polished ballroom floor, unaware of the flame-haired beauty behind them, or how she moved closer at the mention of the man's name.
“Oh, he's a handsome devil, to be sure. Will he be here tonight? Or have all these eager mothers towed their daughters along for naught?”
The other lady twittered in amusement, shaking her elaborately coiffed gray head. “Those blue eyes would melt the heart of the coldest virgin, ’tis true. And I know a few husbands who'll not be so happy to have him back. They say Logan's bedded nearly every woman in Denver.”
“If only we were young,” returned her companion. They both sighed wistfully, and the young eavesdropper moved away, pumping her fan vigorously as two high spots of color reddened her cheeks.
Isabel Holloway Whitcomb was angry. But even more, she was excited that Logan was back in Denver. Her green eyes roamed the milling crowd eagerly. The Palace Hotel with its polished floor and crystal chandeliers was the grandest establishment in town, but nothing compared to the ballrooms she'd enjoyed in St. Louis. But it would suffice to quell her boredom, especially if Logan showed up.
Her lovely face drew into a frown, and she snapped her fan shut angrily. The last time she'd seen Logan he'd made violent, passionate love to her, then walked out on her, and she hadn't heard a word from him since. Damn him. She moved agitatedly into the arched doorway, where she could search the other rooms.
