by Jodi Thomas
Bethanie knew Allison loved the thought of a secret romance having occurred in this very room.
“I know I’m a romantic,” Allison laughed as if reading Bethanie’s mind. “Not like you, Bethanie. You reason everything out in your own quiet way.” Allison sighed slightly. “It’s probably for the best.”
“You’re right about that, dear.” Martha startled both girls as she stepped into their room. She had obviously overheard Allison’s last comment. “After all, Bethanie won’t have much romance in her life. She’ll be lucky to find a poor farmer who’s willing to marry her. What man wants to spend the rest of his life looking at a skinny wife with tons of long red hair? It reminds me of the dark, muddy water in the Red River.” Martha nodded her head sharply. “Yes, it’s more mud color than red. How cruel nature’s been, Allison, to give your cousin a stick for a body and such awful hair.”
As always Bethanie did not reply to her aunt’s barbs. She merely stood holding Allison’s discarded gown as the other women moved to the door. There was a time to lash back and a time to be silent. Bethanie knew instinctively that anything other than silence would draw Martha’s wrath a hundredfold. Yet, each day she felt her tolerance for Martha decaying into open hatred.
Bethanie’s dream of a peaceful evening shattered as she watched the family return in less than an hour amid a flurry of excitement. Her uncle stormed into the hotel with Martha and Allison following in his wake. Martha looked fearful as she dragged Allison like a child. Bethanie had no idea what had taken place, but she knew it must have been bad. At first glance, she thought Allison did something wrong. Then she discarded that thought completely. In her parents’ eyes, Allison was an angel. Something must have happened at the ranch.
Wilbur walked to the office door and collapsed against the frame like a runner at the finish line. He wiped sweat from his forehead with the handkerchief he always used at meals to clean grease off his fingers. “Is that man who checked in today up in his room?” Wilbur snapped at Bethanie. There was no need for further explanation since they had only one guest.
“Yes,” Bethanie answered. “He came back a few minutes ago.”
“Well, ask him to come down to my office,” Wilbur ordered. “And watch the desk while I talk with him.” He grabbed the waistband of his slacks in his eternal struggle to keep his pants up over his spherical body.
Bethanie jumped to do his bidding and to avoid passing the corner of the counter at the same time he did.
The sudden slamming of the office door hastened Bethanie’s pace. She ran up the stairs and tapped on the stranger’s door. Tension hung in the air as thick as the humidity. An excitement danced in her veins. She believed any change would have to be an improvement.
An instant after she knocked, the door jerked open, startling her. Bethanie swallowed hard trying to remember what to say. The man before her seemed amused at her distress. “Yes?” he asked in a low voice, his dark coffee brown eyes studying her. “May I help you, miss?”
Bethanie found herself staring at a bare, muscular chest framed on either side by a dark blue shirt. She could smell soap and realized he must have been washing up. “My…” Bethanie noticed she had to look up at this man, not down as she did most men. “My uncle would like to talk with you.”
His expression told her he understood her distress, yet he made no effort to button his shirt. He searched her face as if he were studying something of great value and appreciating each line, each detail. The stranger’s thoughtful frown relaxed, blending into a slow, easy smile. “Thank you.” He seemed in no hurry to answer the summons but leaned casually against the door frame and folded his arms.
Bethanie watched his mouth and felt a strong yearning to brush her fingers across his lips. When her gaze moved up to his dark eyes, she had the feeling he understood and was daring her to take action. There was a depth of understanding in his eyes that went beyond flirtation. His stare seemed to offer her friendship.
Frantically, she tore her gaze from him and ran toward the stairs, feeling like a tongue-tied child. She had been around men very little during her lifetime and wished she could have said something, anything, to this man. She could think of none of the ideal conversational small talk women say to men. She made a mental note to watch Allison more closely the next time they were out.
Bethanie tried to calm down as she resumed her place at the front desk. In a few minutes she watched the tall stranger descend the stairs. She kept her eyes lowered, trying to appear busy, but watched him closely through her lashes. She gasped in surprise when he winked at her and smiled, before disappearing into her uncle’s office.
Thanks to the shabby construction of the hotel, Bethanie had only to lean back against the wall to hear every word spoken. Her uncle allowed no one to enter his office unless he was there, so he had no idea how easily she could eavesdrop.
“I’ve been expecting you for two days,” Wilbur grumbled. “Did you bring news? What are the plans now? They seem to change daily. You wouldn’t believe what that fool Wagner told me tonight. Damn well scared my wife to death.”
The low voice of the stranger drifted to Bethanie. “All I’ve heard lately is that the meeting will be here in three, maybe four days.”
“Hell, man!” Wilbur shouted. “I already know that. I thought you’d have fresh news. Wagner and some of the other ranchers with us think the boss may bring in some tough guns to handle any trouble. When I agreed to have the meeting here, I never thought I’d be housing some of the worst outlaws in Texas. Are you sure you know nothing?…If you’re lying…”
The stranger’s words were low and deadly calm. Bethanie could hear the steel in his tone. “I said, I have no more news.” His tone eased slightly. “I ride out before dawn if you have any word you want me to take back. With Apaches on the warpath, I’m in no mood to hang around. Word is, they are growing braver with each battle. Not even San Antonio may be safe much longer.”
“Don’t tell me about the Indians. We had problems all during the war, and now they’re out for more blood. I can only handle one problem at a time and right now I’m worried about all the men coming here to meet. This could be big trouble for me if I’m caught up in this cattle mess. I…ah…” Her uncle seemed reluctant to continue. “I have something I want you to take out of San Antonio, and I’m willing to pay you well.”
“What do you want me to move?” the stranger asked, only mild interest reflecting in his tone.
Wilbur cleared his throat. “I want my wife and daughter out of town before the meeting. My wife will pack tonight. I have horses. I’ll have them ready by the time you leave.”
“No,” the stranger interrupted. “I don’t move people, only information. Besides, if you want them out, why don’t you take them?”
“You know I can’t leave now, not when I stand to make so much, but I’ll pay you two hundred dollars,” Wilbur boasted.
“You must want them out badly,” the stranger said. “Do you know something you’re not sharing?”
“Never mind that. Will you take them somewhere, anywhere, but to safety?”
“No.” The answer was as strong as the solid man who spoke.
“You must do this,” Wilbur whined. “My daughter must be safely away for a few weeks. There’s not another man I’d trust with the Indians gone crazy.” He lowered his voice slightly and Bethanie could hear a touch of blackmail as he said, “If you won’t take them, I’ll blow the lid off all your double-dealings. I’ve got friends in Mexico and with the Texas Rangers. You’ll be a hunted man on both sides of the border when I get through making up all the stories I can about you. I’m sure the boss would like to hear how you’re playing both sides of the fence. Why, for all I know, your past may be darker than even I can think up.”
The stranger seemed disinterested in Wilbur’s threat, but after a pause he asked curiously, “What about your niece? Don’t you want her safely away?”
Bethanie’s face flushed slightly at his mention of her. �
�Oh, never mind about the girl. She can stay here and help me. I’m not spending money moving her to safety. She can just stay around here and keep me company till my wife returns,” Wilbur snorted.
“I see,” the stranger said as he opened the door slightly. “I’ll think it over for a few hours and let you know. I have some other contacts to make first.”
As the tall man stepped from the office, he glanced toward Bethanie. She saw sadness touch his brown eyes as he looked at her. She lifted her head proudly, not wanting his/pity. He lowered his gaze as if he understood her pain, then turned and disappeared up the stairs. Bethanie chewed on her bottom lip. She had to think of something quickly with Aunt Martha and Allison leaving soon. She knew she feared Uncle Wilbur more than any group of outlaws meeting here, or Indians on the trail.
Wilbur filled his office door, patting his barreled belly on each side with fat hands. He knew he had made a bargain the stranger could not afford to refuse, and he was proud of himself for handling things so smoothly. He smiled at Bethanie in a sneer. “Go on up to bed, girl.”
As Bethanie moved past him, he let his huge hand rest on her waist. He pulled her close to his chest, his foul breath smothering her. “I’ve got lots to say to you, but there will be plenty of time later. We need to get to know each other much better, and I predict we’ll have an opportunity in the very near future.”
To Bethanie’s horror, Wilbur pulled her even closer and pressed his fat, fleshy mouth on her cheek. Never before had he been so bold. His lips were hot and sticky against her face and Bethanie felt vomit rise in her throat. She fought to gain control as her tears ran unchecked down her cheeks. In a burst of strength, Bethanie broke free and ran from the lobby. His crude laughter followed her.
Now, more than ever, she must get away before Martha and Allison left. There was only one place to turn. One person who might help. The tall stranger. And there was only one way to get to his room unnoticed.
Chapter Two
Dim moonlight filtered through the curtains of his hotel room as Josh leaned far back in the hard chair and stretched his cramped leg muscles. He glanced over at the bed longingly. I’ll wait another hour, he thought. Then that bump under the covers will be my body and not just a decoy. Josh smiled at himself. If there was one thing that had kept him alive, it was the fact that he was always careful, always alert to possible danger.
Josh melted farther into the shadows as he heard a noise beside his bed, the low, swishing sound of boards sliding past one another. He moved his hand soundlessly to his Colt handle as the wall slid to one side. A dark, slender body squeezed through a secret passage and stood beside the bed.
The front legs of his chair almost hit the floor as Josh recognized Wilbur’s niece. She hesitated as if afraid. She seemed to be mustering every ounce of courage to force herself slowly forward. She moved gracefully toward the bed and leaned over the mound of covers. Moonlight caught in her hair like a red-gold spark in a dying campfire. He waited, silently memorizing every line of her face, sure the vision before him would be rekindled for many nights to come.
With trained silence, Josh rose and neared the young woman. “Looking for something?” he whispered only an inch from her ear. He could smell the soft fragrance of her hair, like the first hint of honeysuckle on a early spring night.
She tensed, sending an invisible current through the air between them; then she jumped in fright and gulped air into her lungs to scream.
Before any sound could pass her lips, Josh’s hand covered her mouth as his other arm pulled her body backward into his chest. The softness of her shoulders felt so marvelous against him, Josh had to force himself not to turn her in his arms and hold her completely in his embrace. He could feel her tremble, and yet he sensed a strength within her, so like another woman he’d known in the past. The memory now caused Josh to lighten his grip. She, too, had possessed a timid courage beneath her tall, slender form. With tenderness, Josh recalled the woman years ago who had been too shy to speak, yet brave enough to save his life.
Josh forced the memory from his mind and whispered into the girl’s ear. “Don’t scream. I didn’t mean to frighten you. If I turn you loose, promise you won’t cry out?”
As she nodded slowly, Josh felt her soft mouth move against his hand. Had it been so long since he’d held a woman that he’d forgotten how soft they were? Or was this one even softer than all the others he’d known?
Josh reluctantly moved his fingers away from her lips. Soft or not, he was a gentleman, and it went against his grain to even have to remind himself of the fact. He loosened his hold on her waist just enough so she could turn to face him. As her body carouseled in his light embrace, Josh fought the urge to pull her close once again.
“What are you doing here?” he whispered, acutely aware of the slight rise and fall of her breasts against his chest. “If your uncle sent you to rob me, you’re out of luck.”
“No!” Bethanie whispered, then swallowed hard.
Mischief twisted a smile from his lips. “Well, if you just came for a visit, why didn’t you use the door?”
“I couldn’t risk being seen,” Bethanie answered hesitantly, “…by anyone.”
She looked up at him, silently pleading for his assistance in escaping some terrible plight. How could he refuse her anything? Yet she seemed to want more than help. She wanted his’d trust, his honesty.
Josh released her waist and leaned over the bed. He removed the pillow and spread the cover flat. “Maybe you’d better sit down and explain. I’ll light a candle.”
Josh pulled up the only chair as she gingerly sat on the edge of the bed. He tried to make his voice lighten the somber mood he’d seen in her eyes. “Are there any more slats in the wall I need to know about?”
Bethanie’s face relaxed into a slight smile. “No. Not that I know of, anyway.”
Josh twirled the chair backward and straddled it, facing her. He twisted his gun to a comfortable position. Tightly strapped to his leg, the Colt had become part of Josh during the years of war. He checked it as often and as absentmindedly as an old maid might check her bodice buttons. “Now, what’s so important?” he asked, rubbing his thumb along his bearded chin.
Bethanie pulled a tiny bag from her pocket. “I want you to take me with you when you leave San Antonio…and I’m willing to pay.”
Josh studied her as she opened the bag and poured out a handful of seeds. “These are my only valuables. Seeds from my mother’s herb garden and my grandparents’ wedding bands.”
Two matching rings appeared among the seeds as she continued. “I’ve kept them hidden, lest my aunt take them. I think they must be worth something.”
She held up the rings to Josh. They were unusual gold bands with dark and light carvings on each one. He made no effort to take them as he looked back up into her eyes. She was doing it again, asking for his total loyalty and honesty as if she could endure nothing less. He found he couldn’t make light of her request when her eyes pleaded, tearing at his heart. “You must want to leave pretty badly. Before I say yes or no…I’d like to know what I’m getting myself into.”
Bethanie nodded. “I’m Bethanie Lane. Fve lived here with my uncle and aunt for six months. My mother died last year.”
Josh offered what he hoped was his most charming smile. “Nice to meet you, Bethanie. I’m Josh Weston.” He’d told her his last name as easily as one might at a church social, yet in the months he’d known Wilbur, he’d never used his full name.
Hearing himself say her name jogged his memory like lightning awakens the air in an evening sky. Yet Josh knew his face bore no hint of his thoughts. Deep in his mind came a hazy image of a young girl just beginning to turn the corner into adulthood. It had been the first year of the war. He was running the Union lines with messages. After a month of success, a bullet from nowhere grazed his skull. He had awakened to find himself a prisoner of bounty hunters who made their living capturing anyone, white or black, whom they found crossing Union
lines. He had been forced to march for days behind their horses, when finally they stopped at a train station in Ohio. By then, Josh was weak from hunger and half mad from the constant pain of his untreated head wound. His captors had made it plain that they got the same money for bodies as for prisoners.
Josh remembered a tall woman and her daughter moving from prisoner to prisoner alongside the railroad tracks. The woman ignored the Union soldiers’ warnings and knelt to help Josh. Her daughter gave him water, while the woman cleaned his blood-caked scalp. She rubbed his wound with an awful-smelling salve and wrapped his head as gently as if he had been her brother and not some Rebel deep in Yankee territory. He would never forget the woman’s sad eyes or her daughter Bethanie’s beautiful red hair.
Now, as he studied the young woman before him, he knew why he’d had the feeling all day that he knew her. Her slight northern accent, her graceful way, her slender beauty, touched a four-year-old memory. She must be the same girl, placed in his path once by fate and now in desperation.
At the point when Josh had given up, a woman’s silent courage and strength had pulled him back to sanity. Her daughter’s loveliness had reassured him that there was more to life than civil war. Three weeks later he had escaped, but he had sometimes wondered if he would ever see the two caring angels again. Even though he had seen Bethanie’s mother only once, Josh felt a sorrow at hearing of her death. He could see her gentleness living on in her daughter. Josh knew whatever Bethanie asked of him, he would grant. He wished she would untie her wonderful red hair so he could see it flowing down her back like the cascade of golden fire he remembered.
Josh realized Bethanie would never recognize him. He must have been only one of hundreds she had seen during the war. Then he had been covered with dirt and blood. Now she was no longer a child, but a woman with wondrously expressive eyes like her mother’s.
Josh fought a smile from his lips. “You haven’t told me why you want to leave. I’m not in the habit of aiding runaway girls.”
