Song of My Heart

by Barbara Baldwin

  She paced across the room, thinking it easier to speak freely if he wasn’t piercing her with that blue gaze of his.

  “I know I keep saying I want independence and the right to create my book for independent women and…” She’d almost said music, but that was still too private a subject, even for this discussion. “But I think if we discuss it, we can find a workable compromise.”

  “Compromise?” There was laughter in his voice, and she turned to glare at him.

  “Yes, why ever not? After all, I think I have proven myself quite capable on this adventure. And besides, I have thought seriously on our conversation about passion, and I believe you are right. If by passion, you mean the way you touch—”

  He held up a hand. Something in his expression stopped her in mid-sentence.

  “Abby, while I would love to continue this conversation, I just don’t think I’m the right man for you.” He choked, momentarily covering his face with the towel.

  “Max,” she murmured, slowly walking toward him, hips swaying. Her fingers went to the neckline of her dress, working the buttons through their loops.

  He swallowed and backed up farther. Always before, Max had been the aggressor, readily kissing her and taking her to the heights of pleasure. Now, when she was offering him everything, he didn’t seem inclined to take it.

  “It’s more than just this adventure we’re on. I love you.” She watched his eyes widen. “I think I’ve loved you since the very first when you rescued me from that raging bull.”

  Max bolted toward the door, slamming it as he left. Abby stood in the middle of the room, mortified. Had she only been an object of pleasure to wile away the time on the train? Would he touch any woman the way he touched her, making her shiver in ecstasy? Making her fall in love with him?

  Maybe she was stubborn, but she didn’t think Max was that cold-hearted. He probably wasn’t used to bold women telling him they loved him. She’d just have to make him see they were right for each other.

  * * *

  Monty crashed into a preacher on the stairs in his rush to leave Max’s hotel room. It took him a minute to recognize his brother. When he did, he started laughing so hard tears came to his eyes.

  “Come on,” he said, grabbing Max’s arm and pulling him down the stairs.

  “What the hell?”

  Monty shook his head. “Such language, coming from a preacher.”

  “Where’s Abby? Is something wrong with her?” Max sounded worried, and Monty was glad. Perhaps there was hope for his wayward brother after all.

  “She’s fine, but we’ve got to talk.”

  As they walked away from the Teller House, Monty thought over what Abby had disclosed. He glanced sideways at his brother, older than him by just minutes, but in many ways too much older. Their father had always been harder on Max—demanding more and disciplining him harder. And whether either of them wanted to believe it or not, Max was exactly like their father. Not only was he hardheaded and set in his ways, but he demanded too much of himself. He thought he always had to be perfect.

  Monty knew what Max would probably never admit. Max worked extra hard, going on dangerous assignments with the government, all to gain their father’s approval. He had not yet comprehended that he didn’t need that approval. There were other things more important in life. Like the little lady upstairs.

  Predictable as always, Max hadn’t told Monty anything about his relationship with Abby. Monty decided to help the situation along, but then Max began talking about Dillon.

  “He wired a bank in San Francisco for money,” he said. “So I’m going to assume that’s where he lives. The money’s one thing, but if we don’t get some evidence about bogus mining ventures, or something that pertains to the merchandise in Father’s warehouse, we can’t pin the murder and robbery on him.”

  “So how do we do that?” Monty was a businessman, always straightforward and honest. This venture had cost him dearly, and he wished desperately to make it up to his father and to his wife, Sarah.

  “Max, how is Sarah?” Because of the circumstances, he hadn’t even telegraphed her.

  “About time you asked,” Max growled. “Did you even stop and think what it would do to her when you left without a word?”

  “I couldn’t say anything. I had to fix this, but I’ll make it up to her.”

  “Damn straight you will. And soon. I’m sending you and Abby back to Denver to catch the first train east.”

  Monty started to protest, but Max stopped him.

  “We now know the name of Dillon’s bank. I’ve wired my government contacts to freeze his assets. That should make him mad enough to go to San Francisco to determine what’s going on. I intend to follow him.

  “I want you checking the banks in Boston to see who transferred all that money and through how many transactions. Someone has to remember something, unless there was a partner in one of the banks. I want to know that, too. My assistant, Barnaby, should be able to help you.”

  “Abby won’t go with me,” Monty stated flatly.

  “She’ll do what I say.”

  “No, she won’t.”

  Max gave him one of his big-brother-I’m-the-boss looks, and Monty smiled. He sure would like to be around to see the fireworks. Max was caught and he didn’t even know it.

  “Max, she thinks you need looking after. I think she’s right.”

  “How the hell do you know what she thinks?”

  “She came into your room while I was there, so we talked.”

  Max pulled him to a stop, turning to face him. His eyes narrowed. “You talked?”

  Monty cursed himself for even mentioning it. For some strange reason, he wanted to keep Abby’s confidence. At the same time, he thought maybe his brother needed a prod in the backside to see what was right in front of him.

  “What are your intentions toward the lady in question?”

  Max looked surprised. Then he smiled. “Just who did Abby think she was talking to in my hotel room?”

  * * *

  Max stewed all the way back to the hotel. It had been difficult trying to talk to his brother about Abby. Max thought he loved her, but how did he know? Was it more than the lust he felt every time he looked at her?

  Monty had refused to tell him exactly what Abby had said, but he’d made it crystal clear that Max had better not hurt her, or Monty would come after him. That was a switch, Max thought, as he climbed the stairs to the second floor.

  He tapped lightly on her door. When no one answered, he used the extra key to let himself in.

  In that moment, he understood what love was. It was the heart-pounding, palm-sweating fear that something was amiss, and then the acute relief when he saw her lying on the bed asleep. It was the smile that automatically came to his lips and the deep aching need to hold her.

  He stood at the end of the bed and watched her sleep. She was so beautiful with her fiery red hair and freckles across the bridge of her nose. How did someone like him deserve an angel like her? He knew she had feelings for him, but did she love him? He didn’t dare ask, for it would crush him if she said no.

  She stirred, rolling over onto her back, murmuring his name in her sleep. He smiled, pleased that she dreamed of him.

  * * *

  When Abby woke, it was early evening. She’d slept the afternoon away, but given the late nights they often kept, she was tired more often than not.

  She dressed for the evening, putting on a black silk dress with a plunging neckline. The puffed sleeves sat just at the curve of her shoulders, giving her the seductive look she needed. She didn’t have a lot of experience with men, but it seemed they were easily distracted when she dressed so. And it was necessary to keep Dillon distracted until he made a mistake.

  She had wanted to come to Central City with Max, but she hated the game they’d begun. In playing poker with Dillon, she was also taking money from other men. She told herself that was not her fault since they played the game by choice, but she still felt
guilty.

  She reread the note Max had left. They had begun varying their routine so it didn’t appear as though they worked together. Tonight, Max would enter the game first, then she would join. She grabbed a shawl and her reticule, locking the door behind her.

  Dusk was slipping into night as she walked along the boardwalk, careful to stay in the shadows so she wouldn’t draw attention to herself. She stepped off the wood platform at the end of the hotel to cross the alley. She stubbed her toe, almost tripping. She looked down.

  She clamped a hand to her mouth, stifling the scream that welled in her throat. Her heart pounded. She stared first at the shoeless foot, then at the tattered dress, ripped down the back to reveal a black corset. Abby swallowed hard, forcing herself not to be sick.

  She hurried around the body and knelt, gently turning the woman over. She kept her eyes averted until a lifeless arm flopped against her hip. Red lacquered nails contrasted sharply against the white fingers curved around a piece of paper. Abby slid the paper from between the woman’s lax fingers, hoping it would give a clue to who she was.

  She drew in a steadying breath. Only then did she allow her gaze to lift to the woman’s face. Lifeless eyes gazed unseeing into the night.

  Abby gasped.

  It was Star, though her face was bruised and swollen almost beyond recognition. She began crying for the girl who had no choices left to make.

  When she composed herself, she knew she had to get help. Carefully laying Star’s arm across her chest, she pulled her shawl from her shoulders and laid it over the girl. Gathering her skirts, she rushed from the alley and onto the boardwalk. She went to the sheriff’s office, but it was dark, the door locked.

  Max would know what to do. She shivered, rubbing her arms with her hands. It wasn’t the cool night air that made her blood run cold.

  Since he’d left the hotel before her, she assumed he was already hunting Dillon. She stumbled into the Silver Streak Saloon, stopping just inside the door and taking a few minutes to compose herself. There was a larger than usual crowd tonight, and she had trouble seeing over the heads to the poker tables that lined the far wall. Catching sight of Dillon, she surveyed the rest of the table, feeling sure that Max would be playing against him.

  She had to look twice, but then recognized him from the side. His diamond signet ring winked in the lamplight when he tossed coins into the pot.

  More than once, a miner grabbed at her as she passed, but she wiggled free, never taking her eyes off Max’s back. She didn’t look at Dillon. She felt in her heart that he had something to do with Star’s death. If she looked him in the eye, he would no doubt read her thoughts.

  However, when she stopped at the table, Dillon drew her attention. “You’re not playing this table tonight, lady. I think you cheat and I’m not about to lose any more money to you.”

  The white scar etched an angry gash across his flushed face. She started to accuse him of murder when she felt a tug on the side of her dress. She turned to see Max looking at her, a question in his eyes.

  The acute relief that surged through her caused her body to begin shaking, no doubt a reaction to shock. Her bottom lip began to tremble, and her eyes welled with tears. Max stood, taking her elbow and turning her away from the table.

  “Gentlemen, if you will excuse me,” he said in his deep drawl. “I’m in a dire predicament here, for I completely forgot I had promised to take this beautiful lady to dinner.” He pocketed his winnings then grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair.

  Without saying a word, he escorted her from the saloon. By the time they gained the door, tears blocked her vision and the sobs she’d tried so hard to hold in racked her chest.

  Max pulled her into the nearest alley, away from prying eyes. He draped his coat around her shoulders. The warmth of the material and his scent enveloped her. She curled into him, sobbing, wetting his shirtfront.

  “Abby, are you hurt?” His hands roamed across her back then caressed her shoulders through the wool of his jacket. She shook her head.

  “Sweetheart, what is it?” His warm breath caressed her ear as he kissed her.

  “Hold m-me,” she stammered, then hiccupped.

  His arms came around her, pressing her against his chest. It felt so right to be here in his arms. He rocked her gently, whispering nonsensical words of comfort.

  “I’ll make the world go away if that’s what you want. You and me, that’s all there would be.” He kissed the top of her head. “Just tell me what you want.”

  She raised her head in silent request. Max complied.

  The kiss was sweet, slow and soft. She relaxed in his arms and let him explore. His gentleness only made her ache for more.

  Drunken laughter brought her to her senses. Max tensed, lifting his head. He took a step deeper into the shadows, pulling her with him. After the group of men passed by, he tilted her chin with a finger.

  “Can you tell me what’s wrong now?”

  “Star is dead.”

  “Star?”

  “The girl Dillon kept around. I noticed her in Golden and now here, usually working in the same saloon where he gambles.” She tried to hold back a sob. “The last time I was gambling against Dillon, I had thought to win her freedom from him.”

  “Damn! Where is she?” Max grabbed her hand and pulled her back into the street.

  She pointed toward the hotel.

  He talked as he walked. “I was focusing only on Dillon. Now that you mention it, I do remember a skinny blonde hanging on him at Golden.”

  Star lay in the dirt exactly where Abby had found her. “Why hasn’t someone stopped, or taken her to the undertaker?” she asked.

  Max squatted to examine the body. “Probably not even a sheriff worth his pay in a town this size, much less an undertaker. Besides, when someone reports a murder, they often get thrown in jail on suspicion of committing the crime. Either that or they’re made to pay for the funeral.”

  “That’s terrible! Whatever happened to human kindness?”

  He stood and came toward her.

  “You can’t just leave her there—do something!” Tears came again and she brushed them away angrily.

  Max cupped her shoulders with his strong hands. “Abby, I’ll take care of her, all right?” He ducked his head, looking her straight in the eye. “All right?”

  She nodded.

  “I want you to go back to the room and lock yourself in. I’ll return soon.”

  “But—” He stopped her protest with a hard, quick kiss.

  “Now,” he demanded, and she knew better than to disobey. Besides, if anyone could discover what had happened to Star, Max would.

  Once she returned to the hotel, she began shivering, even though the night air was warm. She stripped off her silk dress and pulled on a flannel nightgown. She climbed into bed and snuggled under the comforter, waiting for Max to return.

  It wasn’t long before she heard the key turn in the lock.

  “Hold me, Max.” Abby yearned for his solid presence next to her; otherwise she knew she would have nightmares.

  Max’s shoes hit the floor with a thunk. The bed creaked under his weight, and Abby rolled toward him. His arms came around her to pull her across his chest. She tucked her head under his chin, listening to the strong beat of his heart. She didn’t say anything for a long time. Silent tears dropped onto his shirtfront.

  “Nobody should have to die alone, Max, regardless of what they had to do to survive.”

  “I know, baby. We’ll be her family tomorrow.” Max sounded tired, and Abby hugged him tighter. He was her knight in shining armor and he would make everything right with the world.

  * * *

  Abby met Max at the blacksmith’s as the farrier helped him load the pine box onto the back of a wagon. Dark shadows under her eyes made her face paler than usual, and her hands twisted an already damp handkerchief as they drove out of town.

  He hated to see her unhappy, but knew of no way to make her smil
e. Death was never easy, especially one as brutal as Star’s. He was only sorry he hadn’t been there to prevent her from discovering the body in the first place.

  He had no evidence that Dillon murdered Star, but he had a pretty strong suspicion. Blocking Dillon’s access to his money had angered the man, and he’d most likely taken it out on the barmaid. Now Max intended to escalate the timetable, putting even more pressure on Dillon. He wanted this case over and done. He couldn’t negate the possibility of the man killing again.

  At the moment he had Monty keeping Dillon under surveillance. Once they had seen to Star, he planned on getting Abby out of Central City and back to Denver where he had more men to keep watch over her.

  She pointed to a tree that stood alone at the edge of the river. “There.”

  Abby gathered wildflowers while he dug the grave. Neither said much until Max managed to get the coffin into the ground. Once it was covered, she laid the flowers on top the freshly turned dirt.

  “May I say something?”

  Max nodded. She slid her hand into his and he closed his fingers around it. He looked at her and found her eyes raised to the heavens, tears glistening at the corners.

  “God, it shouldn’t matter what Star had to do while she was alive. Women have so few choices. But you must know she wouldn’t have chosen this life if there’d been any other way. She didn’t deserve to be hurt and she doesn’t deserve to be punished for something that wasn’t her fault. Please take care of her and let her be happy.”

  “Amen,” Max said. He replaced his hat and helped her to the wagon, thinking about her words. She was stubborn and argued with him constantly, but she was also compassionate and giving and had a heart of gold.

  A heavy weight fell away from his heart. He didn’t know why it had taken him so long to realize he loved Abby more than life itself. And it was damn time he did something about it.

  * * *

  When they got back to the hotel, Max told Abby to start packing.