All I Need Is You

by Johanna Lindsey

  Damian had two choices. Find Henry immediately and deal with him. Or find Casey first, so she could be there for this long-awaited confrontation. As eager as he was to get the whole thing over with, he owed Casey a front-row seat, so to speak, for all the time and effort she had devoted to leading him to Henry. She’s earned her bounty money.

  It was a simple matter to locate the boardinghouse that she’d been directed to. This one was at least clean and somewhat homey in appearance, owned by the local schoolmarm, as it happened. That very proper young lady probably wouldn’t have let Damian up her stairs for any reason—if she’d known Casey was a female. But since she didn’t know, she directed him to the second door on the left at the top of the stairs—which was open, the room being empty.

  Hearing water running led Damian to the only other door up there that was closed. He knocked impatiently. “Are you in there, Casey?”

  “What are you doing here?” she called out immediately.

  He didn’t like talking through doors, so rather than answer that, he asked, “Are you decent?”

  “Barely. I’m about to have a bath.”

  Not surprisingly, the thought of Casey in a steaming-hot bath sort of changed the direction of Damian’s thoughts. He wondered if the door was locked. He was about to find out when he heard from her again.

  “You still there?”

  “Yes.” He sighed, recalling why he was.

  “You didn’t say what brought you.”

  “Henry is here.”

  “I know.”

  Damian frowned at that reply. “What do you mean, you know?”

  “I probably saw the same newspaper you did, with his picture on the front page.”

  His frown got a little deeper. “And you come up here to bathe instead of coming to tell me?”

  “He’s not going anywhere, Damian. He’ll still be here when I’m done with my bath.”

  “I’m not waiting.”

  He heard a low growl of annoyance before the door jerked open. In disappointment, he noted Casey was completely dressed, just lacking her poncho and her gun belt.

  “What’s your big hurry?” she demanded.

  “Considering how long I’ve been searching for Henry, do you really have to ask?”

  Her belligerence fled. She even sighed. “No, I guess not.” She turned to reach for her gun belt and glanced down to buckle it on, adding, “Did you take the time to ask someone where Curruthers can be found at this time of day?”

  “At Barnet’s Saloon. It would appear that he runs his political campaign from there.”

  “Don’t sound so disgusted.” Casey grinned at him. “Saloons happen to make excellent places to conduct business other than the usual business of drinking, gambling, and—” She paused to cough. “Well, you get the drift.”

  He did, but denied it, “And?”

  She turned stubborn, refusing to spell out anything of a sexual nature. “And having a generally good time,” she improvised with a frown.

  Damian leaned forward and stole a quick kiss from her, then said while she was still too surprised to speak, “That kind of good time?”

  Casey snorted and grabbed her poncho, but she was blushing again, and she refused to meet his amused glance. She did give one last, wistful look at the hot water she was leaving behind, before heading out the door with a curt “Well, come on, let’s get this over with.”

  Chapter 27

  The very first thing she noticed about Barnet’s Saloon was how clean it was. The second thing was, it didn’t look like any saloon Casey had ever been in before. The tables were covered with red leather. The chairs were upholstered. The bar was a work of art, thickly carved and highly polished and inset with a marble top. The walls were actually wallpapered. There was a thin carpet on the floor, and, for crying out loud, not a spittoon in sight. If not for the bar, it looked like the lobby of a fancy hotel, or an exclusive men’s club.

  Casey was impressed. She even stepped back outside to look at the placard again, just to make sure they were in the right place. They were, but Barnet’s was just too foreign-looking, as if designed by someone from Europe—or back East, and that brought Henry Curruthers back to mind.

  He was sitting there, so easily recognizable with those thick glasses and that mole on his cheek, exactly as Damian had described. He sat at a table with three other men. Two others stood around, listening to the conversation. All wore business suits, though all but Henry looked seriously awkward in them. The group appeared as if they ought to be in some hideout, discussing their next robbery, rather than sitting in this fancy saloon discussing political strategies.

  Casey shook that thought away. She was being too suspicious. Just because the five men with Henry had that peculiar look of menace typically associated with gunfighters didn’t mean they were gunfighters. They weren’t even wearing guns.

  Damian didn’t seem to notice the decor or think that it was unusual, but as soon as he spotted Henry, his focus remained on him and him alone. He was waiting for Henry to notice him. Casey was waiting for that, too, as a confirmation of identity. Not that one was really needed, but Henry would recognize Damian, and in that moment of surprise, his reaction could give away his guilt.

  But that wasn’t the case, unfortunately. When he finally glanced over toward the door and saw them standing there, he did show a speck of surprise, but that was all. And, heck, maybe the place had rules of dressing that allowed only suited-up folks to enter, and she and Damian certainly weren’t that, having just come off the trail. If that were the case, everyone there would be surprised at their presence, not only Henry.

  That did happen to be the case. Everyone else was now looking at them in something less than curiosity, a few in actual outrage.

  One fellow spoke up querulously. “Here, now, this is a private saloon, members only. If you’re looking for a drink, head over to The Eagle’s Nest across the street.”

  They weren’t budging, of course. And Casey was figuring she might have to back up their stance with her Colt, at least until they got their business finished here, but that wasn’t necessary.

  “I’m placing you under arrest, Henry,” Damian said. “Will you come along peaceably, or will you give me the pleasure of dragging you out of here?”

  Casey had to admire Damian’s bluntness, even if he didn’t have the authority to do any legal arresting. The others in the room, though, found his statement hilarious; almost all of them were laughing, Henry included.

  “What’d you do, Jack, kick Mrs. Arwick’s dog again?” someone snickered.

  “No, wait,” another said with a chuckle. “Old Henning must be having Jack arrested for ridiculin’ him in the newspaper—as if every word weren’t true.”

  Henning was the other candidate currently running for mayor, whom Henry had slandered in the local two-page newspaper, but who was this Jack they were referring to? Someone else was a mite confused as well, though in the reverse.

  “I’ve heard you called many a thing, Mr. Curruthers, but a Henry?”

  Curruthers was smiling as he answered, “Actually, I have been called Henry before, but, dear me, it’s been more than twenty years since anyone’s made that mistake, getting me and my twin brother mixed up.” Then he looked at Damian and asked pointedly, “Is that what you’ve done, mister? Mistaken me for my brother, Henry? And just who are you, anyway?”

  Damian was frowning something fierce, obviously not liking the implications of those questions. “Damian Rutledge—and let me get this straight. You’re saying you and Henry are identical twins?”

  “Yes, unfortunately.”

  “Unfortunately?”

  Curruthers shrugged. “I’ve really got nothing against my brother, although I’ve always considered him a bit of a Milquetoast, if you know what I mean. But I’ve just never liked having someone around who could pretend to be me, and get away with it, simply because he’s got the exact same face that I do. It’s why I left New York and my family ties behind
as soon as I was old enough to get out on my own. And I’ve never gone back or regretted leaving. I’ve kept in touch, and I hear from Henry every so often, but if I never saw my brother again, it wouldn’t bother me much.”

  “When was the last time you heard from him?”

  “Actually, a couple times this year. It surprised the hell out of me when he wrote last spring that he was thinking about coming to pay me a visit. Never figured Henry would want to leave New York and his comfortable job there. He’s an accountant, you know.”

  “Yes, I’m aware of that.”

  “But he’s such a timid sort, if you know what I mean, and this country out here, well, it’s not for the timid.” There were a few chuckles from his friends over that remark, before Curruthers added, “He must have changed his mind, though, since he wrote again a few months ago from San Antonio—he’d made it that far—but he never showed up here.”

  “Then you don’t expect him to show up?”

  “After all this time? It doesn’t take three months to get here from San Antonio. My guess is, Henry probably got scared off. For someone who’s lived their whole life in a big city like New York, Texas can seem quite primitive. Takes a certain kind of man to settle out here, and Henry just isn’t that kind, if you know what I mean.”

  “But you are?”

  “Well, I’ve lived in Texas for the last fifteen years, so I guess that speaks for itself.”

  “This town isn’t that old,” Damian pointed out.

  “I said I’ve lived in Texas, not this town,” Jack said, his tone turning condescending now. “No, I’ve only lived here in Culthers for the last eight months or so—isn’t that right, boys?”

  “Yep, was about eight months ago that you showed up here, Jack,” the man to Curruthers’s right said.

  “Was a couple months into the new year, as I recall,” another confirmed.

  Jack nodded, wearing a bit of a smirk now as he glanced back at Damian. “By the way, what’s Henry done, anyway, to warrant arrest?”

  “He committed murder.”

  “Henry?” Curruthers started laughing. It took him a while to compose himself. “You’ve got to be mistaken—again. The only way Henry might kill someone is to pay to have it done. He wouldn’t have the guts himself.”

  “But you would, wouldn’t you—Jack?”

  The little man stiffened, possibly because the pause Damian had inserted before his name indicated that Damian wasn’t believing everything he was hearing. Not surprising, since Casey wasn’t either. But it was only the question that Jack addressed right now.

  “I’d kill someone in self-defense, without a doubt. But then, I didn’t say I was like my brother. Matter of fact, we’re as different as night and day. I don’t tolerate weakness, though that’s about the only category my brother has ever fit in—if you know what I mean.”

  Casey had gotten that impression with the first words Jack had uttered. There was an unmistakable arrogance about this little fellow that didn’t match up at all with what Damian had said about Henry. She didn’t need it spelled out that one brother was a bit of a coward, while this one was more or less a braggart. Now, whether it was all for show or if he really did have the gumption to back it up, that was what she was interested in.

  But she was keeping out of this interrogation, since Damian was doing just fine. She was amazed, actually, sensing how furious he was over this unexpected turn of events, how well he was keeping his temper contained. This was supposed to have been the end of his search. It had to be utterly infuriating for him that on the surface, it looked like they might have come up against a complete dead end instead.

  Damian’s silence, or perhaps it was the skeptical expression he was still wearing, must have caused Jack to change his “offended” stance, because he sighed now and said, “Look, Mr. Rutledge, if you’re having any trouble believing me, and I suppose you are since you’ve never heard of me before, then I would suggest you send a telegram to my aunt in New York. Last I heard, she was still living. And she can verify that Henry and I are twins.”

  “Where is the telegraph office?”

  At that point Jack was grinning again. “We don’t have one here in Culthers. We expect to before the end of the year, but right now the closest you’ll find one is in Sanderson, one or two days’ ride south of here. Of course, I will expect you to return and offer a full apology. Can’t have any slurs against my good name during an election, if you know what I mean.”

  The little man was nothing if not confident, but it was a confidence that grated.

  Chapter 28

  “Two brothers, both wanting to be mayors? Do you believe that, Casey?”

  Damian had deliberately refrained from talking about the meeting they’d had with Jack Curruthers until now. He and Casey were halfway through with a couple of nearly raw steaks—which at least she was enjoying. His disappointment that it hadn’t been Henry in that saloon had made him furious at first. One bottle of red wine and working their way into the second had helped get him calm enough to talk.

  Casey chewed thoughtfully on some fried potatoes before she remarked, “Maybe Henry decided to follow in his brother’s footsteps. You know, like sons do with fathers,” she added pointedly, since Damian fell into that group. “Then again, Henry could have just been asking questions everywhere he went that would lead him to his brother. Perhaps he forgot the name of this town but remembered it was new. In that case, he’d be asking about new towns, wouldn’t he?”

  “That’s a bit far-fetched, Casey.”

  “Maybe, but possible. Try picturing it. Henry needs a place to disappear to and decides his brother can help. He gets halfway here, but he misplaces the letter he had from Jack that mentions the name of the new town where he’s recently settled, and he can’t remember the name of it to save his soul, so he starts asking about new towns. Or maybe two towns in Texas have the same name and he gets to the wrong one. Anyway, he also knows that Jack plans to run for mayor, so he narrows down his search to small towns with mayors. But finally he realizes that Texas is just way too big, that he won’t be able to find his brother this way, so he gives up and heads back East.”

  “Well, I hope you’re wrong, because with a cold trail like that to go by…”

  “I wouldn’t count this a dead end just yet, Damian,” she said cryptically.

  “You think Henry might be here, and Jack’s doing his part to hide him?”

  “I suppose that could be a possibility. But in that case, why would Jack even admit that Henry was planning to visit him?”

  “Because we tracked him this far.”

  Casey nodded slowly. “Yes, there is that. Still, let’s consider brother Jack for a minute. He seemed tough as nails, but any coward can get delusions of bravery with five big, menacing hired hands backing up his every word, which is what they did. He could be paying for his arrogance—if you know what I mean.”

  Damian grinned at her use of what appeared to be Jack’s favorite phrase, but as to the point she was making, he said, “Yes, I thought of that. Except it’s Henry I know, not this bold brother. It is more likely that they’d be cut from the same cloth, rather than being so dissimilar, as Jack would have us believe.”

  “Oh, I don’t know. I’ve got two brothers myself who happen to be complete opposites. One would rather have his nose in a book all the time, hates ranching, and in fact he should be a practicing lawyer pretty soon, while the other’s about as ornery as they come, hard to drag him in off the range, and—”

  “You’ve got brothers?”

  The question brought an instant blush. Apparently, she hadn’t meant that reference to slip out, but she’d been drinking her fair share of the wine—and while drink could be stimulating, it could also loosen a tongue enough to forget that some things were meant to be kept secret.

  “Well, yes,” she replied tepidly.

  “What else have you got?”

  She took another drink of her wine before saying testily, “How ab
out a mother, just like you’ve got?”

  She’d mentioned his mother deliberately because she knew he didn’t want to talk about that lady—her way of saying, Keep the personal questions out of the conversation. That would be fine if he weren’t craving to know every single thing there was to know about her.

  “Sisters? Uncles and aunts?”

  Golden eyes narrowed on him and she retaliated with a direct hit. “How come you don’t like your mother, Damian?”

  He wished she didn’t play so dirty. The mere thought of his mother made him angry.

  “If I answer that, will I get some answers from you in return?”

  That he wasn’t ignoring her question as she had his surprised her somewhat, but she gave him a noncommittal shrug. “Maybe.”

  Not a very satisfying answer, but the best he’d get, he supposed. “Very well. To begin with, I should mention that I loved both of my parents in the natural way that a child does. But my mother didn’t return that love—or at least, her love for another man was much more important to her. She divorced my father many years ago, causing him untold personal as well as public distress. She might as well have divorced me also, because when she left New York to marry her lover, I never saw her again.”

  “Never? Her choice or yours?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I guess what I’m asking is, did she ever return to New York to visit you? And if she didn’t, did you ever make an attempt to find her to discover why not?”

  “No, to both counts. But why would I expend the effort when I already knew why? She simply didn’t care enough about me to bother. She went off to make a new life for herself, and to hell with what she left behind.”

  He couldn’t manage to keep the bitterness out of his tone. Why the hell did it still hurt after all these years?

  “I don’t know,” Casey said, her look more sympathetic than he was comfortable with. “If it had been me, I would have tracked her down and demanded some answers from her. And if I didn’t like those answers, then I would have at least made her feel miserable for abandoning me so callously. ’Course, callous folks don’t usually feel guilty about anything. That’s why they’re callous. But I would have given it my best shot.”