LaceysWay

by Madeline Baker

  “Let’s go,” Matt said.

  “Your side—”

  “It’s just a scratch. Come on, let’s get the hell out of here.”

  “Wait,” Lacey said. “We’ll need food and blankets. There’s plenty inside the lodge.”

  “Hurry.”

  And hurry she did. Finding a parfleche, she quickly filled it with food and a handful of eating utensils. Remembering that Matt was clad in nothing but a breechclout, she took one of Sky Runner’s shirts and stuffed it into the bag as well. Grabbing two furry sleeping robes, she hastened outside.

  Matt helped her onto Cinder’s back, then handed her the supplies while he swung aboard Sky Runner’s calico pony. His own horse, badly winded, was tethered in a copse of trees a short distance away.

  “Let’s go,” Matt said, and, urging his horse into a lope, he headed south.

  They rode all that day and into the night. Matt winced as the chill air closed around him, making the cut across his rib cage throb dully. But there was no time to rest now. They had to put as much distance as possible between themselves and the Indians. Sky Runner would have freed himself and returned to the village by now. No doubt the Indians were already in pursuit.

  Matt frowned. There was a sleepy little town not too far away. It wasn’t much, but it was too big for the Indians to mess with. If they could reach it by morning, they would be out of danger.

  At midnight Matt drew his horse to a halt.

  “What’s the matter?” Lacey asked.

  “The horses need to rest,” Matt replied. His eyes searched Lacey’s face. “Are you all right? Did they hurt you?”

  “No, I’m fine.”

  Leaning from the saddle, Matt put his arm around Lacey’s waist and kissed her cheek. “I missed you,” he murmured. “Lord, how I missed you.”

  “I missed you,” Lacey said. She reached out and caressed his arm, her eyes filling with love. “I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”

  “Lacey…”

  She smiled at him, knowing what he was thinking. Hadn’t she been thinking the same thing ever since she first saw him?

  “Do we have time?” she asked.

  “No, dammit. Come on, let’s ride.”

  Chapter Nine

  It was a small town consisting of a ramshackle one-story hotel, a disreputable-looking cantina, a mercantile store, a good-sized livery stable, and a whitewashed Catholic church that boasted a large wooden cross and an ornate stained-glass window. Lacey thought the church looked out of place in such a dumpy little town. There were a few adobe houses strung out behind the church.

  Matt reined his horse to a halt at the stable but did not dismount. There were only a few people on the town’s dusty main street, an old man nodding in the late afternoon sun, a plump Mexican woman hanging a load of wash over a dilapidated picket fence, a boy currying a slat-sided gray gelding in front of the stable.

  “What is it?” Lacey asked. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. I’m just so damn tired of being broke and on the run.”

  “We’ll manage.”

  “Yeah.” Matt swung out of the saddle and helped Lacey dismount. “Come on, let’s see what we can get for your saddle.”

  The man at the livery stable gave them a fair price for Lacey’s saddle, and after leaving their horses at the barn, Matt and Lacey walked to the hotel to see about a room. Matt signed the register as Mr. and Mrs. Darbison, and Lacey laughed softly. When they had shared a hotel room the last time, they had not been married but Matt had used his real name. Now they were legally wed, and he had signed the hotel register with an alias.

  They had no baggage other than what was in their saddlebags, and Lacey did not miss the speculative look the hotel manager sent in their direction as they started down the hall. Their room was drab and dreary. The faded wallpaper had once been pretty, but was now peeling off the wall. The bed sagged in the middle; the mirror on the wall was cracked and yellow, the four-drawer oak dresser badly scarred.

  Matt caught Lacey’s look of dismay and shrugged. “It won’t be forever,” he said. “Just until we can get a few dollars together.”

  “I know, but—”

  “But we never had a real honeymoon and you were hoping for something a little nicer,” Matt said, finishing her thought.

  Lacey’s cheeks turned pink. “Yes,” she admitted shyly.

  “Does it really matter where we are?”

  Her heart beat a quick tattoo as his eyes lingered on her face. “Oh, Matt,” she murmured. “Stop asking silly questions and kiss me.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said, smiling broadly, and took her in his arms, his mouth closing over hers in a hungry kiss that left them both breathless.

  Lacey swayed against Matt, her arms twining around his neck, her lips parting as he kissed her again. The thrust of his tongue turned her blood to fire, and she clung to him, loving the warmth of his body against her own, the way he moaned her name as his hands moved feverishly over the length of her body. She had almost forgotten the magic of his touch, and how her knees went weak while her whole being seemed to come to life.

  Matt kissed Lacey again and again, seemingly unable to get his fill. It had been so long since he had held her close, so long since he had been able to hold her and love her. Slowly, his mouth never leaving hers, he began to undress her, his hands sliding sensuously over her bared flesh. Touching her, kissing her, knowing she was his, filled him with such longing he could scarcely contain it.

  Murmuring her name, he lifted her into his arms and carried her to bed, his blood singing with delight as Lacey began to undress him. Passion made her bold and she stripped away his shirt and clout, her fingers brazenly exploring each inch of bronze, hard-muscled flesh. Soft sounds of sympathy emerged from her throat as she kissed his scars, and he was moved with a deep tenderness for her gentle concern.

  And now they lay side by side, gazing into each other’s eyes. Matt knew he had never seen such love reflected in anyone’s eyes before and he felt a peculiar lump in his throat as he gently stroked the curve of Lacey’s cheek. She was so sweet, so lovely, and she was his. He could not get over the wonder of it, could hardly believe that she loved him, that she trusted him.

  With a wordless cry, he buried his face in the red-gold mass of her hair, his hands caressing her breasts and belly and thighs, the soft roundness of her hips and buttocks, the smooth expanse of her back. Lacey moaned softly as his hands and lips swiftly aroused her, overcome by a wondrous sense of belonging and wonder. She closed her eyes as Matt’s body became a part of her, and it no longer mattered where they were, only that they were together as they were meant to be together.

  Her fingers kneaded his broad back and shoulders as he moved within her, the rhythmic strokes flooding her with waves of pleasure. She arched her hips upward, wanting to be closer, to absorb him into herself so that they might always be one.

  She gasped his name as his life spilled into her, filling her, satisfying her, not just physically but emotionally as well. They didn’t move for a long time after, content to lie in each other’s arms, reluctant for the moment to end. Gradually their breathing returned to normal and the sweat cooled on their skin.

  Matt touched Lacey’s cheek, his eyes warm and tender. “Someday I’ll clothe you in silks and satins and build you a house that will make the rest of the world green with envy,” he promised solemnly.

  “If the world knew what we had, they’d be green with envy now,” Lacey murmured, her fingers tracing the outline of Matt’s rough-hewn jaw.

  “Pea green,” Matt said, grinning.

  Lacey grinned back at him. “Of course, I wouldn’t object to silk dresses and a big house.”

  “Witch,” Matt teased, and began tickling her unmercifully.

  Lacey shrieked, her hands vainly trying to push him away, but she was no match for his strength and he tickled her until she was breathless, and then he kissed her, his midnight blue eyes filled with love and tenderness, his l
ips soft and warm against hers, his breath like the sweet summer wind against her ear as he murmured her name.

  In moments they were entwined in each other’s arms again, their bodies seeking the sweet fulfillment only the other could give. Caught up in the wonder of Matt’s touch, all thought of silk dresses and fine houses evaporated like the morning dew and Lacey knew she would be content to spend the rest of her life in that dingy little room so long as Matt was there beside her.

  The days that followed were peaceful ones. The town, though small, was surrounded by several large ranches, and it was the ranch families and cowboys that kept the town alive.

  Matt got a job dealing poker at the cantina, and Lacey adjusted her hours to his. They slept during the early part of the day, ate dinner at the hotel, strolled through the town in the afternoon, or spent the time making love in their room until it was time for Matt to go to work.

  To pass the time, Lacey bought some material and patterns, needles and thread, and made several shirts for Matt and a couple of dresses for herself. When she grew weary of sewing, she read a battered copy of David Copperfield, which she had found on the closet shelf.

  The hours when Matt was home were the sweetest of all. Their love seemed to grow deeper and stronger with each passing day, and Lacey often marveled at the way her life had turned out. Who would have thought that she would find love in the arms of a man convicted of murder? Of course, she no longer believed Matt was guilty of such a thing. Now that she knew him, she realized he could never have killed Billy Henderson, or anyone else, in cold blood. Drunk or sober, Matt Drago was not that kind of man.

  Gradually they bought a few things. For Matt, a new .44 Colt and a holster, a black Stetson, a sheepskin jacket, new boots, a pair of Levis. For Lacey, a new coat, undergarments, shoes and stockings, a frilly straw hat. They got her saddle out of hock.

  The winter was cold and wet. It was snowing the night Lacey asked about their chances of finding her father, come spring.

  Matt let out a long sigh. Finding Lacey’s father would likely take a miracle now. “Listen, Lacey…”

  She had been darning a pair of Matt’s socks. Now she laid them aside, her eyes searching his.

  “What is it?” she asked tremulously. “Don’t you think we’ll be able to find him? You said the Apaches would probably return to that same general area in the spring.”

  “I know, but don’t get your hopes up too high. Even if he’s still alive, he could have been traded to another tribe. Hell, just don’t get your hopes up too high, honey. This is a hard country, and the Apache are unpredictable at best. I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

  Lacey nodded. Matt was right, of course, but she couldn’t stop hoping. Hope was all she had left. She remembered how her father had always been able to make her laugh, how hard he had tried to make her happy, the rag doll he had bought her when she was eight. He couldn’t be dead.

  “Lacey.” Matt took her in his arms and held her tight. For her sake, he hoped they could find her father, but he didn’t think they had much of a chance.

  Lacey remained in Matt’s arms for a long time, not thinking, content just to be held, to feel the strength of his arms around her, to know that he loved her, that she wasn’t alone.

  That night after Matt left for work, Lacey stretched out on the bed and let her mind wander into the past. Her first memory was of her father teaching her to ride a little dapple gray pony named Cupcake. She recalled how proud her father had been because she hadn’t been afraid. She had been happy as a child, secure in the love of her parents, certain that only good things awaited her in the future.

  She had been twelve when her mother died. Her father had not been able to accept her death. He had gotten drunk on the day of the funeral and stayed that way for two weeks, never leaving his bedroom, eating little, saying nothing. And drinking, always drinking. When he sobered up, he sold their house, the only home Lacey had ever known, and they had embarked on a journey that was, for Lacey, a nightmare most of the time. Her father had numerous jobs in the next five years, and he lost them all because he couldn’t leave the booze alone. Lacey had been ashamed of the way they had lived, of the way people looked at her, their eyes filled with pity because her mother was dead and her father was a drunk.

  And then they had arrived in Arizona and her father got a job as cook at the Double L Ranch, and it seemed like all their troubles were finally behind them. She had been so certain her father would stay sober this time. She had hoped and prayed and dreamed… The tears came then and she cried herself to sleep, weeping for her father’s wasted life, for the unhappiness they had shared, for the mother who had died too soon.

  She felt a little better the next day. Rising early, she slipped out of bed without waking Matt, dressed, and walked down the dusty street to the church at the south end of town. The interior of the church was cool and dim. A large wooden cross loomed behind the altar. A statue of the Virgin Mary stood in one corner, a statue of St. Francis of Assisi at the far end of the chapel.

  As she did every Sunday, Lacey knelt at the back pew and offered a silent prayer for her father, beseeching the Lord to keep him safe, to bless him with health and strength, to enable Matt to find the trail in the spring.

  It was peaceful in the church. Later, Father Gonzalez would hold Mass for the townspeople, but for now she was alone. She sat for a long time, gazing at the wooden cross, and as she studied the rough timber, she thought about the Man who had died such a dreadful death, and as she did so, a wonderful sense of peace filled her heart. Everything would be all right. She was smiling when she left the church. Everything would be all right.

  It was a beautiful day, cold and clear. The sky was a hard brilliant blue. The trees were barren, the distant hills clothed in shades of brown and gray. Wrapping her arms around her body, she began to walk a little faster, eager to return to the hotel and Matt’s loving arms.

  Chapter Ten

  Matt Drago let out a long sigh of relief as they left the dingy little town behind. It was good to be out in the open again, out of the smoke-filled cantina, out of the dreary hotel room. He had spent the past three months dealing poker and during that time he had remembered, vividly, why he had given up gambling for a living. The hours were long, the atmosphere was sleazy and smoky, the people were, for the most part, losers who hoped to make one big score at the poker table and then retire for life. But it never happened. Gambling got in a man’s blood, and sooner or later you always lost everything you’d won, and more.

  Dealing for the house had paid pretty well, though. He and Lacey were well supplied for their journey, they had clothes and food and blankets, money in their pocket. It was a good feeling.

  He smiled at Lacey riding beside him. Lord, she was beautiful, and easily the best thing that had ever happened to him. The months they had shared had been like a taste of heaven, and he loved her more than he’d ever thought possible.

  Lacey smiled back at Matt, her eyes warm with love. She was glad to be traveling again, glad to be away from the dirty little town where they had spent the winter. It had been hard, living in the hotel, staying alone at night while Matt worked in the cantina. She had worried about him constantly, even though she knew he could take care of himself. Still, she had not been able to keep from worrying that he might be hurt in a brawl, or killed in a gunfight. Sometimes when he came home she had smelled liquor on his breath, and a terrible fear had engulfed her. What if he began to drink excessively? What if he changed, as her father had changed?

  One night she had poured out her heart to him, begging him not to drink anymore. She had spoken in a rush, fearful that he might become angry, and yet needing to tell him how she felt. When the words were out, she had waited, breathless, for his reply. He had not been angry with her, as she had feared. Instead, he had promised her that he would never touch another drop so long as he lived, if that was what she wanted.

  The memory of that night warmed her even now.

  “How
long will it take us to reach our destination?” she asked.

  “Not long.”

  And it didn’t seem long. The days were warm and sunny, the nights cool and filled with stars. And always Matt was there beside her, smiling at her, loving her. She had never been happier. He had only to look at her and she seemed to melt inside. Her heart would pound, her cheeks grew flushed, and she felt as if her whole being was drenched in liquid sunshine. She blossomed under his caresses, reveling in the way he made her feel, rejoicing in his love. His hands knew every inch of her flesh, every curve, just as she knew his. She had thought that such feelings would surely diminish with time, yet she never tired of his lovemaking, never thought of refusing his touch. Nor did she ever grow weary of looking at him. When he smiled at her, she knew she had never seen a more handsome man. She loved the color of his eyes, the way his hair curled over his collar, the texture of his skin, the spread of his shoulders, the length of his legs, the sound of his voice.

  It was on a sunlit April morning when they saw the smoke. Matt reined his horse to a halt, his narrowed eyes sweeping over the landscape. A prickle of fear rose in the pit of his stomach as a dozen mounted warriors appeared out of a fold in the ground.

  “Don’t move,” he warned Lacey. Carefully he lifted his hands away from his gunbelt.

  The Indians quickly surrounded them, their dark eyes filled with suspicion and malice.

  “You are on Chiricahua land,” one of the warriors said in stilted English. “What are you doing here?”

  “We are looking for someone,” Matt replied. He studied the warrior nearest him. Chiricahua land, the Indian had said. These were his people. “Perhaps you can help us?”

  “Perhaps.” The warrior’s eyes lingered on Lacey. “Who are you looking for?”

  “A white man.”

  The warrior nodded. “We have a white man in our village. He is married to one of our women.”