He’d shown it all right, all the way to a hangman’s noose.
Sam Hildebrand stopped him before he reached the hotel. “Heard tell you’ve been staying with Thompson.” He eyed the blistered skin on Kane’s hand avidly.
Kane nodded.
“Ain’t no one done that before.”
“Maybe no one got burned in his kitchen before.” The last thing Kane needed now was resentment from the other guests. God knew he had enough people on his back.
Sam absorbed that piece of information, then nodded. “Poker game tonight. You in?”
Hell, why not? It was better than sitting in his room, staring at walls and wondering what in the devil’s name he was going to do now. “Yeah.”
Sam hesitated a moment. “You been with Thompson’s daughter? We all been real curious about her.”
Kane wanted to hit him. There was a leering curiosity in his eyes, a knowing smirk on his lips. He knew one thing about these kind of men, though: Show one sign of weakness and you’re dead. Maybe not immediately, but it would be stored for future reference. Soft men didn’t survive long among this company.
Kane shook his head. “You know Thompson’s rules. No woman’s worth getting killed for. Or hung. I don’t fancy leaving yet.”
Damn, he hated explaining himself to the likes of Hildebrand.
“We don’t want you to,” said Hildebrand. “You’ve won too much of our damned money.”
Kane relaxed slightly. “You’ll have a chance to even things tonight.”
“Rosita’s later?” A question lingered in Hildebrand’s eyes, and Kane knew he hadn’t really given up the subject of Nicky. In fact, he was probably sent as emissary from the others to pry.
Kane shook his head. “My back hurts too bad for the kind of activity I like.”
“Burned that bad?”
“Bad enough.”
“You really save the girl?”
Damn, but this place was a sieve of information. Andy? He doubted it. It was more likely Robin. “You hear that from the boy?”
“Yep. He was braggin’ ’bout his friend, Diablo.” There was derision in his voice, a dangerous edge of jealousy.
“Well, forget it. He’s a kid. He exaggerates everything. I was just getting some water when the fire flamed. It caught both of us.”
Hildebrand smiled slyly, then shrugged. “See you later.”
Kane swore again as he made his way up to his room. He hadn’t liked the look in Hildebrand’s eyes. He was up to something, and Kane had the sinking feeling that he, Kane, was part of it. He was a fly caught in a web, and the number of spiders was increasing. The question was whether they were going to destroy each other before they got to him.
Nicky debated with herself all night before she visited Andy’s wife, Juanita. She didn’t own a dress, hadn’t owned a dress since the day after her father died, when Uncle Nat had taken her and her brother and fled Austin, Texas. Nicky had been tending Robin in a rented room while their father had “gone out on business.”
Her uncle had returned alone, and she’d known instantly that her father wasn’t coming back. She’d known even then he was a robber, that she had to be careful about what she said to the various housekeepers and what few people she met.
Uncle Nat had taken her dress and given her trousers instead, said it would be easier riding that way. It was, and he’d never seen the need to buy her anything else. Neither had she. She had loved the freedom of trousers. Later, when she realized men were looking at her differently, she was grateful for the almost shapeless clothes.
But now she wanted to wear a dress. She wanted Kane O’Brien to notice she was a woman. She wanted to be pretty for him. She swallowed hard, remembering those long-ago vows that she would never care for an outlaw, never suffer what her mother suffered.
Kane was different, though. She longed to see that too-rare smile. She yearned to see admiration in his eyes. Juanita, she knew, could help her. Juanita would loan her a dress and help her do something with her hair, short as it was.
Then she would ask Kane O’Brien to dinner tomorrow night. She didn’t think her uncle would object, not now. She had seen Kane leave, whole and well, and her uncle had been expansive after their meeting. He was interested in Kane for some reason of his own, a reason that Nicky no longer believed spelled danger for her outlaw. Nat Thompson didn’t like many people, but he apparently liked Kane O’Brien.
She picked up her pace, even as her stomach quaked in uncertainty. She had made a decision. A fatal one, maybe, but inevitable. She couldn’t say she loved Kane O’Brien. She didn’t know that much about love. What she felt might be gratitude, or attraction, or curiosity. Need. Desperation. Or just plain lust. She didn’t know. She only knew she had to find out.
Gooden, Texas
Mary May Hamilton’s gaze went to the tall, lean drifter who had become a frequent customer at the Blazing Star Saloon. She’d watched him for the past month. He came in, took a seat by a wall, ordered two glasses of whiskey, never more, and left. He was always alone, but his eyes never stopped moving, watching.
She’d approached him several times and was rebuffed gently. So were the other girls at the Blazing Star. “Nothing personal,” he would say. “Just prefer my own company.”
It was her job to cozy up to patrons, get them to drink more, buy her fancy concoctions that were little more than water. It was up to her whether she wanted to take things further. Sometimes she did; more likely she didn’t. Mary May didn’t consider herself a whore. She didn’t take money for loving; she just enjoyed it if the man was right. And she was very particular. The man had to be clean, attractive, and gentlemanly. The stranger fit all those qualifications. He didn’t try to grab her backside or make ribald remarks, and he had steady eyes, not cruel ones.
It had been a long time since last she’d been pleasured, and she was feeling that familiar ache that plagued her after a long abstinence.
She had another reason to want to know the stranger better. She had a sideline business: information. She provided tidbits now and then to a man called Calico who paid her handsomely. That money, and most of the dollars she earned at the Blazing Star, went to Mrs. Culworthy in another town. Mrs. Culworthy cared for Mary May’s three-year-old daughter, Sarah Ann.
So the stranger interested her in more ways than one. Calico wanted information on strangers. He wanted information on anyone who asked about a place called Sanctuary. He wanted to know about anyone who seemed to be running from the law, or anyone who was the law. Mary May suspected the stranger was one of the two.
She had given Calico the name of a man with a scarred face weeks earlier, and had earned a good sum of money for it. She had seen that same man talking in the alley to this one. Mary May hadn’t voiced that particular observation to Calico, though she wasn’t sure why. Maybe because more information’ would mean more money. Or maybe because the stranger intrigued her. She usually had any man she wanted; men took great pride in being selected by her. But not this one. So far.
Though he wore no badge, she had a nagging suspicion he had something to do with the law. He had a military bearing: straight back and confident tilt of his head. There was something always alert about him despite the lazy pose he affected in the saloon and the slight limp that would be imperceptible to most. There were certain things a man couldn’t hide. Not from her. She knew men far too well. Because she enjoyed most men and had an honest fear of others, she’d learned to sniff danger.
The stranger smelled of exactly that. He had the assurance of a man who had faced death and won, and who was comfortable with decisions he’d made. He fascinated her. He had from the day he’d first declined her company.
Mary May had few illusions about herself. She was not beautiful, but she loved a good joke and laughed easily, and had learned to turn aside unwanted overtures with a good nature that defused trouble. When she dealt cards, she did it well and honestly, determined not to make her husband’s mistakes. He’d been a gamb
ler, and had caught a bullet when found cheating, leaving her a pregnant widow with few skills. Her only assets had been her smile and body.
It wasn’t a bad life at the Blazing Star. The owner, Dan Calhoun, watched out for his girls. If they attracted gamblers and sold enough liquor for him, he didn’t care whether they sold more than liquor.
Her gaze wandered over to the tall stranger again. He had finished his first glass of whiskey. His feet were stretched out, as if he hadn’t a care in the world. Yet she had the impression of a coiled rattlesnake. Not the menace, exactly, but the striking power.
She turned to the bartender. “Tom, I’ll take him the second glass.”
He shrugged. “Gonna try again?”
“Hell, why not?” she said.
He grinned. “There’s a bet over which one of you girls will break him down.”
“You and Dan doing the betting?”
“Yep.”
“What’s the stakes?”
“Ten greenbacks.”
“Who bet on me?”
“I wouldn’t bet against you, love.”
“Why, that two-faced, no-good …”
“Aw, come on, Mary, we tossed for you and he lost. He took all the others.”
She felt better. She checked the stranger from under lightly painted eyelids. He was looking ruefully at his empty glass, waiting patiently for a refill. She got the feeling he did a lot of waiting. Question was why. Two kinds of men waited: outlaws waiting on a job, and law dogs waiting to catch them.
She took the glass of whiskey to his table. Ordinarily when she wanted a man’s attention, she’d put a hand on his shoulder or wink at him. She didn’t think either approach would work in this case. Instead, she stood silently, forcing him to acknowledge her.
“You waiting for someone?” she finally said, still not setting the glass down in front of him.
Those watching eyes slid over her, noted every detail. She felt naked.
“I’m waiting for that,” he said, indicating the glass in her hand.
“You’ve been in here every day.” It was a dumb observation. Of course, he knew he’d been in every day, but she was at a loss as to how to continue the conversation. She wasn’t going to ask him whether he wanted company. He would say no, and that would be the end of that.
His eyes were a slate gray-blue like first dawn. Clear. No sign of whiskey blur. She hadn’t seen him smile, but suddenly he did, and her knees went weak. The smile transformed the hard face. “An astute observation,” he said.
She flushed for the first time in years, yet his words were said with humor, not contempt. “I suppose it was,” she said, suddenly smiling back. “But my pride’s at stake.”
One brow questioned her.
“There’s a bet,” she said to the unuttered question.
His brow raised higher. “About me?”
She nodded. “Who will break you down.”
“Not much to do in this town?” His question was wry, and she immediately liked him.
“Well, you don’t gamble, you don’t drink much, and you don’t want company. That sorta makes you … strange.”
“Strange?” he said with a small chuckle that rumbled across the table.
“Different,” she said, afraid she’d insulted him.
“Then I have to remedy that,” he said formally, and she knew suddenly he’d been well-raised though he was dressed like any drifter. “May I buy you a drink?”
She grinned then. “I thought you would never ask.” She handed him the glass and sat down. “I’m Mary May.”
“I know,” he said, and she realized he hadn’t been as indifferent as he seemed. “I’m Ben.”
“Ben what?”
“Ben Smith.”
“You have a lot of kin out here.”
He smiled. Slow and lazy again. “Yep, guess I do.”
“Waiting for one of them?”
“Could be.”
“Ex-military?”
He looked startled for the first time. For a moment, he looked as if he would deny the assumption, then his body relaxed. “That obvious?”
“To me, it is.”
“Why?”
“Your hair’s shorter than most, for one thing. Most military men wear it that way. Also, the way you hold yourself. And the discipline. Always two drinks, never more.”
He shrugged. “The military and I took leave of each other long ago by mutual agreement. But some habits die hard.” For the first time his expression darkened. She’d intruded some place she shouldn’t have. But relief flooded her. She didn’t think he was a lawman. He didn’t have that … arrogance about him.
He gestured to the bartender for a drink for her. Tom grinned and gave her a sign of victory. For the next thirty minutes, she sipped the watered drink, and found herself saying things she hadn’t mentioned in years.
It wasn’t until later, when she was in her room, unhappily alone, that she realized he hadn’t said anything at all about himself, except that one bitter comment about the military.
Ben Masters glared at himself in the mirror. He ought to be concentrating on Diablo. He’d been crazy to start going to the saloon, but he’d hoped to learn something; it was at the Blazing Star that Diablo had made his first contact. And Ben was damned tired of waiting.
Ben had noticed the woman right off. Hell, he’d have to be blind not to notice. She brimmed with life. She was as unlike his former fiancée as night from day, or the sun from the moon. Clara had been a pale beauty, blond and fragile. Too fragile for a man torn apart by pain and guilt, and who was trying to bury both in whiskey.
He didn’t want to think of that now. He needed to keep his mind on Diablo, not on some saloon woman, no matter how she smiled or laughed. For a few moments, Mary May had helped him to forget the worry. He knew her reputation, but he liked her honesty, her smile. He liked being with a woman again.
He went to the window and looked out again, as he had every night for the past several weeks, and wondered how Kane O’Brien was faring.
Chapter Ten
This time the dinner invitation came from Nicky. And to Kane, it was even more alarming than the one from her uncle. It also came via a more deceptively benign messenger—Robin.
“Sis wants you to come for supper,” he said from the doorway. “So do I.”
Kane didn’t even ask whether their uncle did. Nat Thompson’s offer had haunted him during the past few days. No matter what Thompson was, he had made an offer in good faith, and Kane detested his role of spy and betrayer. Deception had never come easily to him. Even when he was on the run, he had been openly defying the law.
And, damn it, temptation deviled him. Thompson was offering him something of his own for the first time in his life, even if it was not what he would have chosen. But any brief mental flirtation with the offer reminded him of the lawmen who had disappeared, and he knew he could never be a part of that. He also knew he could never profit at Davy’s expense.
As he looked at Robin, though, he realized he had no obvious reason for refusing the invitation for dinner, even though everything within him rebelled against getting more involved with the Thompson family.
Yet, he still had to discover the location of Sanctuary. And Nicky and Robin were still his best hope.
Robin, his face eager, stood at the door, waiting for an answer.
“Tell your sister I look forward to it,” Kane lied. He hesitated, reluctant to prolong the boy’s stay. “How’s your hawk?”
Robin grinned. “He’s making little whistling noises, and he ate that rabbit real good. I’m going out hunting again. You wanta go?” he asked hopefully.
“I don’t have a gun.”
“That’s all right. Andy has one, and he can loan you one while we’re hunting.”
Kane hated the anticipation in Robin’s eyes. It had been a mistake bringing the boy the hawk. The more Robin came to admire him, the more disillusioned and hurt he’d be when he discovered he had been used to destroy
his uncle, his home, possibly his sister.
“I don’t think so,” Kane said in a voice harsher than he’d intended.
Robin’s grin faded.
“I don’t like hunting,” Kane said, his voice gentling slightly. “I’ve been hunted too long myself.”
“Oh,” Robin said, clearly not understanding at all. The thought of being hunted apparently seemed adventuresome, not bleak, hellishly uncomfortable, and often terrifying. Kane thought of the two years he’d spent as a fugitive—always on the move, poor food, little shelter. He thought of the hopelessness that last time when his horse simply couldn’t run any longer, and he’d stood helpless as a posse surrounded him.
There had been nothing glamorous about the handcuffs that rubbed his skin raw, or the leg irons that forced him to hobble to the courthouse and back. There had been nothing adventuresome about his cell or the prospect of hanging.
If only Robin understood. But he didn’t, and he was headed straight in the same direction.
He wanted to shake some sense into the boy, to warn him what to expect if he continued to admire the “guests” at Sanctuary. But he couldn’t. He could only try to convince him slowly, all the time trying to extract information from him. Some example of law and order he was.
“What time is supper?” he asked.
Robin’s grin was a little tentative, some of his enthusiasm obviously ebbing at Kane’s curt answer about being hunted. “Six,” the boy said, still hesitating, obviously reluctant to leave.
Kane internally counted the days he had left before Davy died, damned Masters yet another time, and stopped the boy as he started to turn around. “Instead of hunting,” he said, “what about fishing? I’m pretty fair at that.”
Robin nodded eagerly. “Tomorrow?”
Feeling all sorts of a knave and damned beyond redemption, Kane forced a smile. “Sounds good.”
“I’ll see you tonight. You can see Diablo,” Robin offered hopefully.
The name made Kane flinch. “How is he doing?”
“He’s sitting on that perch you brought.” The words kept rushing out.
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