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’m 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 and the horses had to be kept 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 so she had to meet his gaze. “Abby?”
“It’s not loaded. I don’t know how to shoot it.” Her voice was so low he had to lean 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. “…from me,” he finished in a voice too low for her to possibly hear.
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 had to look twice, 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. She had to admit that 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 had written and handed him two brass keys.
Max threw their saddlebags over one shoulder, collected the keys and cupped Abby’s elbow. He tur
ned 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 only has 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 had 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. I’ll follow you within minutes.”
She decided not to comment on the fact that with Dillon, losing and anger went hand in hand. 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 had 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. “You don’t look like one of the new girls.”
Abby had tried to pick a dress that gave her a moneyed, sophisticated look and yet might be considered enticing. However, her gown was still quite conservative compared to the short skirts and black net stockings of the saloon girls who wandered among the customers.
“Actually, sir, I’m looking for a card game.”
He gave her a predatory stare. Abby supposed not many women wandered into Central City alone.
“I’m traveling with my father, and he retired early,” she improvised, giving him her brightest smile. She looked expectantly around the room. “I wasn’t tired.”
“Well, then, I don’t suppose Mr. Goldman would mind you prettying up one of the poker tables.” He turned and shouted, “Hey, Star, introduce this lady to the fellows back there.”
Abby had wanted time to check the tables and find Dillon, but that was not to be. She recognized the girl walking toward her as the one John Dillon had so sorely used in Golden. Apparently Dillon got her to work the saloons while he gambled.
Tonight she looked even more harried. Traveling with John Dillon must not be good for a person’s health. She barely looked up as she walked Abby toward the back of the saloon to a table with several men.
“Joe says she wants to join the game,” Star stated in a flat tone, then turned and left, not once acknowledging Abby.
It was time to begin.
“Gentlemen,” she said, applying her finely bred, drawing room charm. “Might I join you?”
“Don’t see no ladies playing poker,” one of the men at the table stated.
“Does that mean you don’t think I belong here, or you don’t think you can take my money?” Abby smiled sweetly to take the sting from her words.
Several of the other men snorted.
“I can take your money quick as the next. Sit yourself down, lady.” He slapped the cards onto the table in front of an empty chair. “I’ll even let you deal.”
Abby sat, opening her reticule to withdraw a large bundle of cash which she laid in front of her and then reached for the cards.
“Why is it you and me always show up in the same town, woman?” A crass voice jerked her to awareness.
She’d known Dillon was at the table, but until the smooth, fluid feel of the cards calmed her, she’d refused to acknowledge him. She glanced from the deck to the four men at the table. Dillon sat two seats to her right. Tonight he looked no different than the men around them in flannel shirt and faded dungarees. Gone was the flashy veneer of a gentleman. He already had a half-empty bottle of whiskey by his elbow. Abby hoped his neglect of his appearance and his drinking were because he was on a losing streak. That would make him careless.
She continued shuffling the cards.
“Why, Mr. Dillon, perhaps you’re following me.” She cupped the watch on the chain. “After all, I once won this watch from you and, the last time we met, a good deal of cash. Perhaps you’re trying to win it back.”
He laughe
d unpleasantly. “That watch isn’t worth much. Least not valuable enough to make me come after you for it. Now you, on the other hand…” He lowered his voice, but even so it sounded loud in the sudden silence. Every man at the table glanced expectantly his way. “For a chance to have you ride me, I might pay a goodly sum.”
Abby felt her cheeks flush.
The men’s crude laughter seemed to egg him on. “Let’s have a little side bet, shall we?” He stared at her, eyes narrowed. He tipped back his chair, his hand going suggestively to his crotch.
“I believe this is a poker table, gentlemen. I suggest we play cards.”
Abby breathed again. Max had made it.
Dillon’s eyes narrowed dangerously at the sound of Max’s deep drawl, but he wasn’t deterred. “Well, well, if it isn’t Markham. Don’t tell me you wouldn’t bet if the winner got a little piece of ass.”
Abby looked across the table at Max. She’d come to recognize the twitch in his cheek as a palpable sign of his anger, though his expression never changed and his hands remained relaxed on the tabletop.
“I really cannot tolerate your language in front of the lady.”
“It’s all right, Mr. Markham,” Abby said quietly, wanting to defuse the situation.
“Yeah, besides, if she was a real lady, she wouldn’t be working in a saloon. How about it, Lady O’Brien?” Dillon sneered. “Even stakes, just you and me. Winner gets to name his reward.”
“Her reward, Mr. Dillon.” Abby looked around at the other men. “Sirs, do you mind finding another game while I show this gentleman how to play cards?”
Max grumbled, loudly. The other men all shook their heads, but no one left the table. They all wanted to watch the outcome.
Abby began the deal, and for the next hour raked in the winnings from the center of the table. It appeared that Dillon had an endless supply of money.
“I think it’s about time I took a turn at dealing.” He sounded disgruntled.
Song of My Heart Page 21
