Hostage Heart

by Lindsay McKenna

  Cole nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  Cameron sat for a long time in silence after Shanks and Cole left. Sonofabitch! Lark Gallagher knew she had him by the balls. And who was that drifter? He’d never seen his face before. He clenched his manicured fingers, the nails biting deep into his palms. He hadn’t expected the breed to hire a gun, he’d expected her to run. Dammit!

  Cameron paced his office, thinking long and hard. Sheriff Cole returned with Colonel Parker Morgan. Good, the northern end of the Tucson Indian Ring was convened. Cameron sat down behind his desk, steepled his fingers, and looked gravely at each man.

  “I’ve got trouble,” he began heavily. “Originally, I thought that with Roarke Gallagher out of the way, I could get his ranch and water rights real easy. I was wrong. That breed daughter of his has hired a gunman by the name of Kincaid.”

  “Matt Kincaid,” Cole clarified.

  Cameron’s black brows rose. “How do you know?”

  “The gent was over in my office earlier filing charges against Bo and pressuring the hell out of me about Gallagher’s death. He questioned that report you had me file on it.”

  Cameron ran a finger around his tight collar. “Is Kincaid wanted for any crimes?”

  “Nope,” Cole answered. “Not as far as I can tell.”

  Parker Morgan shifted, frowning. “Is he a government agent, do you think? You know, with all our activity between Prescott and Tucson last year, I was afraid they’d send some undercover agents in to investigate.”

  “Parker,” Cameron warned, “stop running like a scared coyote. This Kincaid isn’t a damned agent. I told you before, Ga’n’s been doing our dirty laundry. The Apaches are gettin’ blamed for everything. No one suspects we’re behind it.”

  “I don’t know, Jud,” Cole countered, twisting one end of his handlebar mustache in thought. “That Kincaid fella’s smart. He ain’t no ordinary cowpoke. The man uses his words well.”

  “I know one thing,” Cameron added bitterly, “he sure as hell caught me red-handed trying to cheat the breed out of a mortgage payment.”

  “I say he’s an agent,” Morgan reiterated. “I warned the southern branch of the Ring that there were too many raids being pulled down there by whites posing as Apaches. The ranchers and homesteaders are up in arms. They’re writing to the federal government for help.”

  Cameron rolled his eyes, shutting out the rest of Morgan’s litany. If he didn’t need some help inside the U.S. Army, he’d have gotten rid of the pompous, aging Morgan a long time ago.

  “I wonder if that bastard Captain Frank Herter has anything to do with this,” Morgan muttered aloud. “He’s real sweet on that breed.”

  Cameron considered the possibility. “Herter’s due to retire shortly, isn’t he?”

  “Yes, and none too soon. I don’t like him looking over my shoulder. The last time I sent my patrol in the opposite direction from where we knew Ga’n was going to attack some settlers, Herter asked questions. He’s been making a lot of noise about my tactics and strategy during the last four months. The captain smells something, I know he does.”

  “He’ll be out soon,” Cameron soothed. “And once he retires and becomes a civilian, he’ll be harmless to your command. Relax.”

  Dan Cole hitched a boot up on one of the office chairs, frowning. “Let’s get back to this Kincaid fella. If yore gonna try and get the water rights, he’ll be in the way.”

  “He’ll be one man against all our forces,” Cameron said. “Once I get the Gallagher land, the Ring’s power here in the north will increase considerably. I don’t think Saunders, who owns the Circle S Ranch down near Tucson, is going to protest my decision. Nor will Colonel Williams, commander of Fort Apache. They want to see us strengthen our position here in Prescott. Bringing down Lark Gallagher will be a good way to do it.”

  Morgan nodded reluctantly. “I think it’s time we contacted Ga’n again. Let him take care of the breed for us.”

  Cole snorted. “You know that red devil ain’t gonna touch the Gallagher Ranch. He respected the breed’s father, and she’s half Apache. No way will Ga’n do anything to hurt her or the ranch.”

  “We’ll see,” Cameron snapped. “Once Bo is found innocent of plugging that greaser, I want him to ride to Ga’n’s hideout and tell the renegade I want to meet him at our usual spot near the cliffs.” He rubbed his hands together. “If anyone can persuade him to get Lark Gallagher, I can.”

  Cole nodded. “Word’s out that the breed and her gunslinger are stayin’ here in Prescott overnight.”

  Cameron shrugged, then smiled. “Maybe I can reconnoiter over at the hotel and find out more about this Kincaid fella. The more we know about him, the better. And while I’m at it, I’ll give the breed my final offer for the water rights to her ranch. She needs the money too badly to say no.”

  Lark had never before taken a hot bath in a copper tub. At the ranch, she always washed in the cold mountain stream behind the house or swam in one of the shallow lakes during the summer. Now, as she languished in the tub in the middle of the afternoon, the hot water miraculously dissolved the soreness from her back and shoulders.

  Matt had taken care of everything, she thought drowsily, resting her head against the rim. Where had he gotten the money to pay for two rooms at the hotel? And later he was going to take her out to eat.

  Worriedly, Lark forced open her eyes. Matt had given a young boy over at the livery stable fifty cents to ride out to the ranch and tell Maria, Paco’s wife, of his injury. A sigh escaped her lips. Paco was going to be all right, the doctor had assured her. The bullet had been removed and the Mexican was resting comfortably over at the office. But he couldn’t be moved for at least two days, so they’d have to stay in Prescott until he was better.

  Restless, Lark sat up and scrubbed herself clean with the French milled soap. She inhaled the lavender scent, finding it delightful. Her hair was next. Afterward, feeling exhausted by the day’s turn of events, she wrapped a thick towel around her body and lay down in the big bed, falling immediately into a much-needed sleep.

  Matt knocked softly on Lark’s hotel room door. He waited patiently. No one answered. He frowned. Shifting his parcel to the other arm, he knocked more firmly. It was nearly six o’clock and Lark had said she wouldn’t leave her room. Why wasn’t she answering? A tremor of fear ran through him.

  He couldn’t wait any longer. He twisted the knob. The door opened, yet he’d instructed Lark to lock it. Heart pounding heavily in his chest, he pushed the door wide and scanned the silent room, missing nothing. He released his held breath and stepped inside, quietly closing the door behind him, remaining motionless until his heart slowed down.

  Matt gazed at Lark’s sleeping form. A towel covered her from her breasts to halfway down her long, firm thighs. He shouldn’t be here, staring at her. He should get the hell out before she discovered his presence.

  Taking careful steps, he quietly placed the large parcel on the dresser. Lark stirred and he froze until he was sure she was still asleep. He’d never forget the feel of the thick, clean strands of her hair between his fingers when he’d held her earlier over at the doctor’s office.

  Closing the door, Matt left the room, shaken in a way he couldn’t explain.

  Lark awoke an hour later. She fumbled to light the kerosene lamps in the cozy room. Still groggy, she noticed the large parcel on the dresser. How did it get here? Heat settled in her cheeks. Matt must have come into the room and left it while she slept.

  She brought the package to the bed and carefully unwrapped it. Her drowsiness vanished as she stared down at a carefully folded dress. Tentatively, as if half afraid to touch it, she ran her fingers across the soft golden material.

  Matt had known she would be too embarrassed to dine in the hotel’s public dining room wearing the violet dress that had been stained with Paco’s blood. Stroking the soft material, knowing that it wasn’t the cotton she was used to wearing, Lark eagerly slipped into the ivory chemise and n
umerous petticoats that had also been provided.

  She fumbled with the violet ribbon, trying to arrange her hair as Maria had done so deftly earlier. In the flickering lamplight she stared at herself in the mirror. The boat neck of the gold dress was edged with dainty lace, displaying her prominent collarbones and emphasizing her slender neck. Lark felt embarrassed by the low cut of the gown, but she loved the white lace that edged each sleeve at the wrist. Lace also ran in rows down the front of the dress and the waist was tied with a gold velvet ribbon. Slowly she ran her fingers down the dress, glorying in the rich texture of the fabric and the rustle of the full skirt. She felt beautiful.

  As she walked down the carpeted hall to the wide staircase that led to the lobby, Lark’s heart began to pound in earnest. Would Matt be waiting for her in the dining room?

  There were a number of people in the lobby, mostly men but also a few well-dressed women. Lark couldn’t ignore the looks of interest on their faces. She felt a tap on the shoulder and turned around. An elegantly dressed man with a young woman on his arm smiled down at her. He tipped his hat to Lark.

  “Excuse me, Miss Gallagher. My name is Cyrus McDonald. This is my wife, Melinda. We knew your father, Roarke Gallagher. We heard about the awful tragedy concerning him, and we just wanted to say how sorry we are that it happened.”

  Stunned, Lark could only stare at the couple. Their eyes were filled with genuine regret.

  Melinda McDonald reached out her gloved hand, briefly touching Lark’s arm. “Father Mulcahy told us what happened last Sunday at church. We’ve been meaning to drive out and see you, to pay our respects to your father, Lark. Perhaps this coming Saturday? The ladies from the church want to bring you some clothing that was being collected for the families that live on your ranch. Roarke had told us the children could use them. May we come to call on you?”

  Overwhelmed, Lark barely nodded. “I—well, yes…”

  Melinda smiled warmly and patted Lark’s arm again. “Wonderful. We’ll come calling this Saturday then.”

  It took Lark several moments to recover from the unexpected encounter. They were whites, but they had been sincerely sorry for her father’s death. Shaken, Lark sought out the desk clerk and asked where the dining room was located. The clerk smiled and gave her directions.

  The wine-colored drapes fringed in silver that hung in the arched entrance to the dining room fascinated Lark. The hotel was lavish compared to the spareness of her ranch. She hesitated in the doorway. Heat fled up her neck and face as a few patrons turned to look at her.

  Relief flowed through Lark as she saw Matt rise from a corner table and make his way through the crowded room. His gray gaze was warm with welcome and with…what? She tilted her head, trying to decipher the smoldering flame in his eyes that made her go hot and shaky.

  “Lark?” Matt held his hand out.

  She placed her fingers in it. “Why are those men staring at me?” she whispered as he came to her side.

  He smiled gently, cupping her elbow. “Because you’re the most beautiful woman they’ve ever seen.”

  And she was, he realized. The dark gold of the dress accentuated her clean, classic features. Her black hair shone in the lamplight, an ebony cape against her back and shoulders. Her skin glowed. He led her toward their table. She was fidgety and nervous, her eyes dark and darting, like those of a trapped animal.

  Once seated at Matt’s left, Lark leaned toward him, keeping her voice low. “Apaches would never stare at me like some of these people are doing!”

  Matt smiled. “Even Apaches would if they saw you in that dress.”

  Not sure how to respond, she stared down at the fine china plates and silverware. Everything about this hotel shouted of wealth. “I—I should thank you for buying this dress for me.”

  “The other one was dirty. I didn’t think you’d want to wear it.”

  She toyed with the lace at her wrist. “This one is so pretty. I mean—it’s expensive.”

  “Consider it a gift.”

  “A gift?”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh…”

  “Why?”

  “Well, Apaches give gifts to one another all the time.”

  “So do white people. Especially on holidays like a birthday or Christmas. I told you before, Lark, these are your people, too. They aren’t all murderers like Shanks or cheats like Cameron. Has anyone else given you a hard time on this trip?”

  “No,” she said eagerly, and launched into a description of her encounter with Cyrus and Melinda McDonald in the lobby. She saw approval in Matt’s features as she finished.

  “Give us a chance, Lark. Believe me, there are more people like the McDonalds than you know. I get the impression that your father was highly respected here in Prescott. And even though the townspeople have had little contact with you, they still want to reach out and help you at a time like this.”

  “I think you’re right,” Lark admitted faintly. “I’ve committed a terrible error, haven’t I?”

  Matt shook his head. “If you hadn’t accepted the McDonalds’ help and friendship, then you would have made a mistake. Right now, you’re learning just how many people loved your father, Lark.”

  “Do you think they will accept me, then?”

  “I think they already have.”

  Contrite for the way she had thought of whites for so long, Lark hung her head and said softly, “Yes…”

  Matt saw the regret written all over her face. “They’ve forgiven you. Forgive yourself, Lark. No permanent damage has been done. Come on, give me a smile.”

  Rallying beneath his coaxing tone, she lifted her head and managed a small smile.

  “Good. Ah, here’s our waitress. I don’t know about you, but I’m hungry as a bear.”

  Lark’s smile grew over their shared joke.

  The waitress, a buxom blonde dressed in a gaudy red-and-white outfit, sauntered over to them and smiled winningly at Matt. “The name’s Ezzie, short for Esmerelda. What’ll it be, mister?”

  Matt glanced over at Lark, who was staring like a child at Ezzie’s low-cut, tight-fitting dress. “We’ll each have a proper steak with all the fixings, Ezzie.”

  She smiled, batting her eyelashes in Matt’s direction. “Anything else? You’re a strapping man, mister. Maybe you want a little more?”

  Matt caught the innuendo. Lark did not. She was like a child in a new world. “That’ll be all, thanks.”

  Pouting playfully, Ezzie turned and wriggled away.

  “What are those things on her eyes?” Lark whispered fiercely under her breath.

  He grinned. “The ladies of the night sometimes snip off a bit of their hair, hand knot it into some silk thread, and glue it to their lashes.”

  Lark blinked. “But…why?”

  He shrugged. “I guess they think it makes them look prettier.”

  “They looked like yellow caterpillars!”

  He grinned. “They did, didn’t they?”

  Lark stared at Ezzie as she flounced dramatically around a corner. “And did you see how low-cut her dress was?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why, you could see—I mean, you could almost see…” Matt’s gray eyes had filled with amusement, but she knew he wasn’t laughing at her. She glanced circumspectly around the room. There were a number of well-heeled women sitting with men, all of them dressed beautifully. She leaned over, cupping her hand to her mouth so that no one else could hear her. “The other women don’t wear their dresses so low. Why did Ezzie?”

  “It’s her way of catching a man’s attention,” Matt drawled, enjoying Lark’s discoveries.

  She frowned, thinking about that answer for a long moment. “Then these other women don’t want to catch a man?”

  For her sake he held on to his laughter. Lark’s expression was so serious and naive. “There are many ways to get a man’s attention. Ezzie’s is one way, but there are others.”

  “But their clothes are like mine. Why do the men sit with t
hem, then?”

  “Why am I sitting with you?”

  Lark frowned, meeting his smiling eyes. “Because you have to.”

  “Because I want to,” Matt amended gently.

  “Then, what a woman wears doesn’t catch a man anyway?” She was completely confused.

  “Clothes can help,” Matt explained, getting serious, “but what’s in the woman’s heart and head counts most.”

  “Oh…that makes sense. Apaches feel the same way about the women they take as wives. It helps if she can grind corn well and cook, but that isn’t everything.”

  Matt drolly agreed. “White men like to know that their woman can cook also.”

  Pleased with what she was learning about the white world, Lark relaxed in the upholstered chair and smiled up at Matt. Lark drowned in the dove-gray depths of his eyes.

  A few minutes later, Ezzie returned carrying a huge tray piled high with food. Lark watched her intently, mesmerized by the “caterpillars” on her eyelashes.

  Lark wiped her mouth with a napkin when she was finished eating. Her eyes narrowed.

  “Cameron,” she warned Matt.

  Scowling, he looked up. Jud Cameron was making his way directly to their table. He smiled at them, his hat in a gloved hand.

  “Evening, Miss Gallagher, Kincaid.”

  “What do you want?” Lark demanded in a fierce, low tone.

  He smiled genially. “Just came to see how you’re doing, Miss Gallagher. After that unfortunate shootout in Abe Harris’s store, I thought you might be feeling a bit peaked.”

  She didn’t understand the word peaked. “I felt fine until you came in.”

  Matt placed a hand on Lark’s arm. “Let the man tell us why he’s here,” he counseled her. “What do you want, Cameron?”