by Maggie James
A loud clang resounded through the room as he was bashed over the head by a metal tray wielded by Opal. With eyes flashing fire, she screamed, “You let her go right now, Nate, or so help me I’ll bash your skull.”
With a cry of pain, he released Kitty, and she fell to the floor, stupefied.
Opal had called him Nate.
He was her brother.
“Now you get out of here,” Opal warned, hitting him across his chest for good measure, “before the marshal gets back here and hauls your ass off to jail. That’s what oughta be done with you, anyway, drunk as you are.
“And you oughta be ashamed of yourself,” she railed on, holding the tray up as though to smack him again as he backed away, hands over his face. “Scaring Wade’s niece that way.”
“Wade’s…niece…” He looked down at Kitty, who was still sprawled on the floor. “Well, I’ll be cat scratched. What’s she doin’ here? And ain’t she a pretty thing?”
Opal gave him a shove. “Yes, she’s pretty, and you leave her alone and get on out of here.”
Nate Grimes whined, “But, Opal, sugar, I ain’t got no money. I need a stake. I got robbed in Mexico, and—”
“You got robbed by whichever puta you were laid up with all these many weeks, and I’m not giving you a cent.”
“Hell, you won’t even give me nothing to eat,” he bellowed, “and how come you moved? I went to the shanty and some man run me off with a shotgun. I started to blow his head off.”
“I live upstairs now. But that’s none of your business. Now git.”
Nate sneered at Kitty. “You ain’t nothin’ but trouble. I heard how you caused Roscoe to get a little crazy with your prancin’ and flirtin’, givin’ him all kinds of notions.”
He took a step toward her, stumbled, and fell.
Kitty scrambled to her feet and backed away from him, but then saw he was no longer a threat.
He was out cold.
“Help me get him upstairs,” Opal said to Morton. “He’s just had too much to drink. He’ll sleep it off and be fine in the morning.”
Kitty watched as Morton and another man pulled Nate to his feet, then slung his arms about their shoulders and proceeded to take him up to Opal’s room.
“Now I’ve got to get to work,” Opal said to no one in particular.
Kitty sat at the bar and had another glass of wine, feeling miserable to the tips of her toes. She had lost her job, had no place to go, missed Sam Bodine terribly and wished they had never quarreled. He had called her stubborn, and he was right. She was. And if she knew how to get in touch with him, she would tell him so.
Memories of how he had held and kissed her made her feel all the worse, and she sank so deep in her despair that she did not protest when Morton kept refilling her glass.
Finally, with heavy head and heavy heart, she went up to her room.
She did not notice that the door to Opal’s room at the other end of the hall was standing open and that Nate could see her as she went to her own.
Neither did she think, light headed from drink, to lock her door.
Promising herself she would make a new start in the morning, she undressed and got in bed, the wine making her fall asleep almost as soon as her head hit the pillow.
Ryder stood in the alley behind the Oriental Saloon. He knew Kitty’s room was in the front. He had kept a vigil across the street with hat pulled down over his eyes until he managed to see her pacing in front of the open windows. Getting down the hall without being seen at such a late hour was no problem. The trick would be to scale the wall and enter through the window opening into it.
It was time for Kitty to go onstage for her second performance…and also time for him to get in her room, find the map, and get the hell out of Tombstone before anybody saw him.
Quickly, deftly, he took the tomahawk he had brought from his hiding place outside of town and tied it to a rope. Then, after several mighty swings over his head, he sent it sailing upward to land with a thud in the wall just below the window.
Giving it a tug, he decided it would hold, and proceeded to pull himself up as he walked the side of the building.
Crawling through the window, he dropped noiselessly to the floor.
A lantern on a nearby table cast a dim light up and down the T-shaped hall.
He crouched and waited for any sound, but heard nothing except the noise filtering from below.
He began to creep along slowly, lest someone in one of the rooms on either side hear him and investigate.
Her door would be locked, but he could pick it open. He knew he had to work fast once he got inside, but he figured there were not many places in the room where she could have hidden the map.
Suddenly a door began to open slowly just a few feet away.
Ryder pressed back against the wall and waited. The last thing he needed was to have to shoot somebody, but he drew his gun just in case.
A man stepped into the hall but did not look around. He began to shuffle along, lurching from side to side.
Ryder decided he was drunk and on his way to find more liquor. He was no threat. He would keep on going, turn at the end of the hall, toward the steps, disappear, and—
Ryder sucked in his breath.
The man went to Kitty’s door, opened it, and walked right in.
Ryder could only stand there, staring in disbelief as the door closed after him.
Who the hell was he?
And why had Kitty obviously left the door unlocked for him?
His first impulse was to just get the hell out of there, but he reminded himself why he was there. If Kitty had a lover, it made no difference. He had come to get the map and be done with it, and that was exactly what he was going to do, by damn, as soon as the man left. Kitty was supposed to be downstairs singing. Surely he wouldn’t hang around with her not there, and—
A scream ripped the stillness.
It came from Kitty’s room, and Ryder forgot everything else as he charged down the hall.
Shoving the door open, he plunged into the room to see Kitty struggling with her intruder.
Ryder clamped his hands on her attacker’s shoulders, taking him by surprise. Spinning him around, he clipped his jaw with a hard blow that knocked him to the floor, unconscious.
In the scant light shining through the window, Kitty looked from the crumpled body on the floor to Ryder and gasped in recognition, “You…Sam…it’s you. Oh, dear Lord…”
Scrambling from the bed, she snatched up a robe as the room suddenly began to fill with people who had heard her screams and come running.
Someone turned up the lamp.
Opal was among the first to arrive. She took one look at the man on the floor and screamed, “What the hell is my brother doing in here?” Then she saw Ryder. “And what the hell are you doing here?”
Think fast, Ryder commanded himself as all eyes suddenly turned on him.
When he did not speak right away, Kitty managed to say, “I guess I forgot to lock my door, and Nate stumbled in. Sam was nearby”—she glanced at him as though wondering why he would be—“and came to my rescue.”
Morton rushed in. Looking from Nate on the floor to Ryder standing over him, his eyes clouded with suspicion. “How’d you get up here? I didn’t see you run up in front of me.”
Ryder shrugged. “It’s like she said. I heard the ruckus and ran up the steps. You just didn’t see me.”
“I told Mr. Earp he needed to get somebody to take Ben’s place on the landing. Anybody can get up here looks like.” Morton pointed to Nate and asked Opal, “What do you want to do with him?”
Opal, hands on her hips, sighed and shook her head. “Just take him back to my room and lock him in this time.” Giving Kitty a pat on her shoulder, she offered, “I’m sorry, honey. Nate gets crazy when he drinks. Otherwise, he wouldn’t harm a fly.”
Kitty did not look so sure about that.
Morton and another man lifted Nate by his feet and shoulders and carrie
d him from the room, with Opal leading the way.
Everyone else had drifted out. Ryder suddenly felt very awkward to find himself alone with Kitty, but at least he had not been caught in the hall and did not have to come up with an explanation for that.
They looked at each other in challenge, each waiting for the other to speak. Finally, Ryder said, “Well, I’d best be going. It isn’t proper to be in a lady’s room,” he added with the hint of a smile.
“It doesn’t matter to the lady,” Kitty said boldly.
His smile grew wider. “That’s surprising, since the lady made it clear a few days ago she didn’t trust me.”
“You misunderstood. Trust has nothing to do with it,” she lied. “I just wanted to go along. I still do. And now I have even more of a reason, because I no longer have a job, and I’ve been asked to move out of here.”
He fought the impulse to put a comforting arm around her. “I’m sorry. So what are you going to do?”
She hesitated but a second, and then, with a twinkle in her eye, she said, “Search for a lost gold mine. Care to join me?”
The way she was looking at him made him feel like butter melting on hot pancakes. “Let’s talk about it in the morning,” he said, knowing that if he did not get out he was going to wind up taking her in his arms, and he was not sure how she would react if he did.
“We can meet at the livery stable and go for another ride. Around eleven?”
She did not hesitate. “I’ll be there.”
Chapter Seventeen
Sitting astride her horse, Kitty watched as Sam studied the trail that ran alongside the river. They had never ridden as far before, but they had been so absorbed in conversation that neither had paid attention to time or distance.
She felt warm inside, like after a cup of warm milk laced with brandy. They’d had a good talk and agreed to look for the gold together. As soon as they gathered all the supplies they would need, they would start out.
“It’s that way,” he said, pointing.
At first, she did not take in his words, for she was admiring the sight of his broad shoulders and narrow hips, the casual grace with which he sat on his horse. Finally she came out of her velvet trance to ask, “What are you talking about?”
“The spot where they found your uncle and his partner. It’s maybe two miles up that trail.”
A shudder went through her. “I thought it was near the river…on the riverbank.”
“It is. There’s a fork a little ways farther up that winds back through some sharp boulders. It’s a real secluded spot. Prospectors use it for a shortcut to the mountains, but others stick to the main trail because they worry about Apaches.”
“Why don’t the prospectors worry?”
“The Apaches tend to leave them alone. The prospectors give them things—beads, whiskey, trinkets, and whatever food they can spare. They’re allowed to pass, because the Indians figure they’re harmless.”
“But maybe with my uncle and Dan McCloud they didn’t.”
Ryder stiffened. “What are you talking about?”
“Have you ever thought about the possibility that it might have been the Apaches who were responsible? After all, Dan McCloud had a half-breed son, remember? And maybe he told some of the warriors in his tribe, and they decided to hunt McCloud down on their own and make him tell where his strike was.”
“No. That’s not possible.”
She wondered why he suddenly sounded so angry, but she maintained her theory. “Well, I think it could have happened that way.”
“White men did it.”
“How do you know?”
“I heard how their bodies looked. It could not have been the work of Apaches.”
She did not want to hear details. “Since we’re so close, I’d like to see the spot.”
“Are you sure? We might ought to be heading back to town. We don’t want to get caught out here after dark.”
“Scared of Indians, are you?” she teased. She gave her holstered gun a pat. “Don’t worry. I’ll protect you.”
“Like you protected the stagecoach?” he teased right back, for she had told him her version of the attack. It had been all he could do to keep from busting out laughing to listen to her describe him as a painted-up savage with wild eyes and how Coyotay, when he had wanted to kill her, had reminded her of a rabid dog she had seen once. He would have to remember to goad him about that.
Her head came up in a flash of indignation. “I put up a good fight. I was outnumbered, you, know.”
“And might be again, but if you insist, let’s ride. Besides, this is the way we’ll head when we start looking for the strike.”
He turned his horse and rode up the trail.
Soon it began to narrow. They could no longer ride side by side. Kitty fell back to allow him to take the lead…and also to enjoy the view of his hips undulating in the saddle in rhythm with the horse’s plodding gait.
She had thanked him for once more coming to her rescue, and he’d said he just happened to be where he could hear her. She had asked him what he was doing back in town, and his explanation was that he planned to try and gain her trust. Satisfied she would be joining him, Kitty had resolved to attempt to ease tension between them and felt she had succeeded. The relaxed camaraderie was back. They were friends once more.
An hour or so passed. They made small talk when the trail permitted them to ride closer, but mostly they ambled along in silence. She noted how he was ever alert, eyes forever darting about.
Intent on watching him, she was caught off guard when the branch of a low-hanging mesquite slapped her full in the face. She gave a little cry. He twisted about in the saddle, saw what had happened, and chided her to be more alert.
“That’s something you’re going to have to learn out here, Kitty. It will be no leisurely ride as we’ve had in the past when we stuck to the main trails. Not only do you need to keep an eye out for Apaches but you’ve also got to watch for outlaws. Then there are snakes, lizards, holes you need to steer your horse around so he won’t stumble, and—”
There was no warning. Kitty’s horse stumbled but once and went down. Relaxed in the saddle and unprepared, she went sailing right over his head to land flat on her stomach. She felt a sharp pain, and the wind was knocked out of her.
Ryder quickly swung down to kneel beside her. “Are you hurt?”
She tried to speak but could only wheeze, face screwed in the anguish of struggling for breath.
He ran his hands up and down her arms and legs and side. “I don’t feel anything broken and don’t see any blood. You’ve just had your wind knocked out. You should be okay in a minute or two. Just lie still. I’ve got to see to your horse—make sure he didn’t break a leg.”
Quick scrutiny revealed only a badly sprained leg that would slow the horse down a day or two.
Ryder returned to Kitty. She had pulled herself up to a sitting position but was still gasping. “He’s going to be lame for a day or two,” he said. “Nothing serious, but you can’t ride him.”
He cast a wary look skyward. Dark thunderclouds were gathering, and the wind had picked up. “I should have been paying more attention to the weather. We need to get out of here before that storm breaks. If the rain gets heavy, this part of the river will rise quickly.”
Kitty glanced about helplessly but saw only boulders and rocks with nothing hanging overhead to protect them. “We can ride double and try to make it back to town.”
For a long, tense moment he said nothing, then, “Too risky. Too many rocks on the trail. Having to carry both of us, my horse wouldn’t be as sure-footed. He could stumble like yours.”
Kitty was breathing better but fear was threatening to choke her. “Do we have any other choice?”
There was something in his face she could not quite read as he stared off into the distance. “Maybe. I used to know of a cave not too far from here.”
Kitty felt a surge of excitement. “Maybe it’s an Indian cave, and
we’ll find food stored there. Pale Sky told me how in the old days, when the Indians could ride wherever they wanted, they would hide food and things in secret caves, usually near water, so they’d be there if needed.”
She did not see how he frowned as he turned away, thinking how sometimes his mother talked too much. “I don’t know about that,” he lied, “but if I can remember where the cave is, we’ll at least have shelter.” He knew the exact location but was not about to let her know that.
“Are you all right now? Can you ride?” He held out his hand.
She took it and allowed him to help her stand. “I think so. I’m a bit sore, though.” She rubbed her bottom.
“Some help you’re going to be,” he pretended to grumble. “You can’t even stay on your horse.”
Not entirely in jest, she crisply informed him, “I’ll bet I could outride you with both legs broken.”
“Well, let’s hope we never find out.” Her cockiness bothered him sometimes. He was afraid it might get her in a peck of trouble one day. After all, he had been confronted by many a young gunfighter with the same kind of attitude. He had, however, wounded them instead of killing them as he could easily have done.
He swung up in the saddle, then pulled her up to sit in front of him. “Your horse will follow after us.”
He liked the feel of his thighs against her as she was squeezed up against him. Reaching around her to take the reins, he felt a rush of pleasure as his arms brushed her breasts.
The wind, which was steadily rising, caused her hair to whip against his face as they rode, and he thought how good she smelled…how good she felt.
Kitty was silent, afraid if she talked her voice would give away the storm raging inside her. His nearness was overwhelming, and she drank in the masculine aroma of him, delighting in his firm chest as she leaned back against him.
There was a hardness against her buttocks, and she wondered, cheeks flaming, if it was caused by his desire. She did not know much about such things, could only guess…fantasize…and she fought to keep from shuddering, lest he sense what she was feeling.
