“How do you intend to find out who killed him?”
“Beats the hell out of me.”
“So what are we going to do?”
“Play it by ear, Lacey girl,” Matt said with a lighthearted grin. “Just play it by ear.”
Chapter Twelve
Some days later Matt and Lacey arrived in Tucson. It was an old town, surrounded by rolling foothills and craggy peaks. The town had been built on a low ridge along the banks of the Santa Cruz River. It was a busy place, always humming with activity. Squat, thick-walled adobe buildings lined both sides of the streets at irregular intervals. There were no sidewalks. When it rained, the mud was a foot deep.
As they rode down the dusty street, Lacey’s first thought was that every building seemed to be a cantina. Women in long dresses made their way through the town, going shopping or to church. There were soldiers and businessmen and numerous children and dogs.
She wrinkled her nose as the mingled odors of coffee, grease, spicy food, chili, mesquite smoke, and dust assailed her nostrils. From somewhere came the soft sound of guitar music, but it was quickly lost in the rattle of wagon wheels and the somber wail of a mission bell.
Matt drew rein at a hotel, got them settled into a room, and then took Lacey shopping. He bought her a new dress, underthings, shoes and stockings, a lacy white parasol, a perky bonnet with pink and blue ribbons, and a pale blue shawl with long fringe. For himself, Matt bought a suit of black broadcloth, a white linen shirt, and a wine-red vest embroidered with tiny pink satin flowers. He also purchased a black, flat-brimmed Stetson, a pair of expensive black leather boots, and a gunbelt and holster, complete with a new Colt .44.
Lacey stared at him, speechless, as he donned his new finery back in their hotel room. He looked every inch a gambler. And terribly handsome. The black broadcloth molded itself to his broad shoulders and long, muscular legs; the snowy white shirt perfectly complemented his dark hair and midnight-blue eyes while emphasizing his tawny skin. She felt her heart flutter with feminine admiration. He was beautiful, and he was hers.
“I’ve decided the best thing to do is just hang around the saloon in Salt Creek,” Matt mused aloud. “No better place to hear the latest gossip, you know. And it’s the last place anyone will think to look for me.”
Lacey nodded. They had been lucky so far. Matt had spied a wanted poster on the bulletin board outside the Marshal’s office. It had been disconcerting, seeing his name and likeness on such a thing. Still, no one who had seen Matt before would be likely to recognize him now. His hair had grown long in the last few months. He had grown a thick moustache, long sideburns, and a closely cropped beard that made him look devilishly handsome.
Lacey slipped into her new dress and admired herself in the mirror. It was nice to be clean again, dressed like a lady instead of a wild Indian.
She frowned at her reflection as she recalled the last time Matt had worked in a saloon.
“I’m not going to sit in some crummy hotel night after night like I did the last time,” she remarked petulantly.
“No?”
“No.”
“Just what do you want to do?” Matt asked, though he had a terrible hunch he already knew the answer. And he was right.
“I want to be with you. If you’re going to spend all your time in a saloon, so am I.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“I don’t want to argue about it, Matthew Drago,” Lacey said in a determined tone. “If you can pretend to be a gambler, then I can pretend to be a dancehall girl.”
“But I’m not pretending,” Matt said, tweaking her nose. “I am a gambler. And a damn good one.”
“Well, I can be a dancehall girl. I can serve drinks as well as anyone else.”
“No, Lacey. I won’t have it.”
“Please, Matt,” Lacey said, pouting prettily. “I want to be where you are.” Standing on tiptoe, she kissed him, her fingers playing in his hair. “Can’t I at least try it?”
“We’ll see,” Matt drawled. His hand cupped her breast as his mouth traveled leisurely over her eyes and nose and sweet pink lips.
Little bursts of excitement exploded in Lacey’s stomach as Matt began to arouse her. It never failed to fill her with wonder that this incredibly handsome man found her desirable. She loved to look at him, to see the desire flare in his eyes, to hear his voice grow husky with longing when he murmured her name. He had only to touch her and she melted in his arms like butter over a flame, everything else forgotten in the joy of his caress, the wonder of his love, the thrill of being possessed by such a man.
Soon they were lying side by side on the bed, their new clothes piled in an untidy heap on the floor. Once, Lacey had blushed to let Matt make love to her in the light of day, but no more. She found pleasure in the sight of his masculine strength, and it pleased her to know that he found her body beautiful in return. She touched his face with her fingertips, marveling anew that a man could be so beautiful, that she had the power to arouse him.
And then Matt was rising over her, his body blocking every other sight and thought from her mind. She craved his touch, his kiss, his caress. Only with Matt did she feel whole, complete. Always, when they were apart, she felt bereft, as though a vital portion of her being was missing.
With a sigh, she wrapped her arms and legs around his waist, holding him tighter, tighter, wanting to draw him closer until they were one flesh, one body, one soul.
Later, lying content in his arms, she knew that everything would be all right so long as she had Matt beside her.
* * * * *
They spent a leisurely week in Tucson. Matt bought Lacey several more dresses. They dined at the city’s finest restaurant, walked hand in hand through the town, went to see a play by a traveling Shakespearean company. And on Sunday morning Lacey coaxed Matt into taking her to church.
Matt felt decidedly uncomfortable sitting on the back pew, his hat in his hand. He had not been inside a church since Leticia Drago had forced him to attend Sunday school over twenty years ago. He had never thought of himself as a sinful man, yet he knew he had done a number of things that would be frowned on by most of the people sitting around him.
Lacey was familiar with the hymns, and she had a lovely clear voice that made him feel good just listening to her. The sermon was long and dry, Matt thought, but Lacey listened intently as the preacher spoke of loving your enemy and making restitution to those you had wronged. He was glad when the service was over and they were again out in the sunshine.
Lacey seemed preoccupied as they walked back to the hotel. At the entrance to the hotel, she paused and laid her hand on his arm.
“Would you do something for me, Matt?” she asked hesitantly.
“Anything, honey. You know that.” He smiled at her mischievously. “Didn’t I just take you to church?”
Lacey nodded. “When I left Salt Creek to follow my father, I stole some clothes and some food. Would you give me enough money to pay for the things I took?”
“You took that sermon to heart, didn’t you?”
“Don’t make fun of me, Matt.”
“I wasn’t,” he apologized.
“I always intended to pay for what I took,” Lacey said. “Will you help me?”
“Sure, Lacey.”
Her smile was radiant. “Thank you, Matt.”
Matt Drago grinned. He had married a good woman, he thought, pleased and a trifle amused. No doubt she would see to it that he became a righteous, God-fearing man in due time. He wouldn’t mind, not really. He’d do anything she asked of him. Anything at all.
But first he had to clear his name.
Salt Creek had not changed much in their absence. It remained a thriving town, growing daily as new people made their way across the plains to settle in the West.
After getting a room at the hotel, Matt and Lacey made their way to the saloon where Matt had been accused of killing Billy Henderson. Matt was wearing his black broadcloth suit, and several women
turned to stare at him as they walked down the street. Jealousy stabbed at Lacey’s heart, and she laid her hand over Matt’s arm in an age-old gesture that clearly said, “He’s mine.”
Lacey glanced up at her husband. It had never occurred to her that other women would find Matt attractive. Now, studying his rugged profile, she realized that a woman would have to be dead or blind to be immune to Matt Drago’s masculine beauty and virile strength. Just looking at him was enough to set feminine hearts aflutter.
She had never realized she was the jealous type, but when Matt smiled at a pretty young woman as they crossed the street, Lacey almost choked. What was happening to her?
Matt patted Lacey’s arm as they reached the Black Horse Saloon. “Nervous?”
“A little,” she admitted. “I’ve only been in a saloon once before, you know.”
“Yeah. And you remember how that turned out, don’t you?” Matt muttered dryly. “Dammit, Lacey, won’t you please go back to the hotel?”
“Matt—”
“I know, I know, you want to be a saloon girl. Dammit, what would your father say?”
“He’ll never know.” Lacey took a deep breath. “I’m ready.”
Matt nodded grimly. What did a man do with a woman as stubborn as Lacey? “Here we go,” he muttered, and stepped into the saloon.
The place was quiet at this time of the day. A lone bartender stood behind the bar, idly polishing a shot glass. Two men sat at the far table. One appeared to be asleep; the other was playing solitaire.
“How do we find the boss?” Lacey asked.
“I think that’s him coming toward us.”
Lacey smiled uncertainly as a tall man in a brown pinstripe suit emerged from the shadows.
“I’m Tucker,” the man said. He eyed Matt and Lacey speculatively as Matt introduced himself as Matthew Walker and asked for a job.
“You any good with a deck of cards?” Tucker asked.
“Try me.”
“I run a clean place here,” Tucker said. “No dealing off the bottom, no extra aces, no tricks.”
“I can deal ‘em any way you like.”
Tucker nodded slowly. He had always been a good judge of men, and he knew instinctively that the man was as good as he said he was. “Who’s the girl?”
“My wife. Lacey.”
Tucker’s eyebrows shot up. “Your wife! What the hell is she doing in here?”
“She wants to work.”
Tucker looked skeptical. Lacey Walker didn’t appear to be a saloon girl. “What does she do?”
Matt grinned. “She wants to serve drinks.”
“That’s all?”
“That’s all.”
J.J. Tucker frowned thoughtfully. Most of the girls in the saloon did more than serve drinks. Still, the gambler’s wife was a beautiful woman. And men were always fascinated by what they couldn’t have. Maybe the girl would be good to have around, just to dress up the place, give it a little class. The other saloon girls weren’t bad looking exactly, but they all looked old and used compared to the gambler’s woman.
“I’ll give you both a try starting tonight,” Tucker decided. “Eight o’clock ‘til two. Don’t be late.”
Lacey patted her hair nervously as she gazed at her reflection in the mirror. She was wearing the dress Tucker had sent over to the hotel. It was flaming red, with long sleeves and a short ruffled skirt. The neck was square, provocatively low-cut.
“What do you think, Matt?” she asked, pirouetting in front of him.
“I think you should stay home,” he answered curtly.
“No. I’m going with you.”
“Dammit, Lacey, I don’t want a roomful of cowhands leering at you while you parade around in that getup. Good Lord, what would your father say if he could see you now?”
“I don’t know,” Lacey mumbled, but she did know. Her father would be scandalized to think of his daughter wearing such an outfit, and even more shocked to know she was going to serve drinks in a saloon.
“Well, I know what he’d say,” Matt muttered, “and he’d be right.”
“Matt, please let me do this. I might be able to learn something about who killed Billy Henderson.”
She was right, Matt thought bleakly. A few drinks and most men would tell a pretty woman anything she wanted to know.
Some of Lacey’s enthusiasm waned as she stepped into the saloon that night. It was Saturday and the saloon was crowded with cowhands and townsmen looking for a little relaxation after a hard day, or perhaps a little excitement. The air was filled with smoke from dozens of cigars and cigarettes. Men could be heard talking and laughing above the tinny notes of a piano. Several women, all clad in dresses similar to Lacey’s, wandered around the saloon, serving drinks, smiling and laughing and flirting with the customers. Lacey felt her cheeks grow hot as she watched one of the saloon girls go upstairs with a middle-aged cowboy.
J.J. Tucker came through the crowd to greet them. His eyes, a cool, pale green, lingered on Lacey for a long moment.
“You look fine, just fine,” the saloon owner remarked. “Just wander around and take orders. I’ve passed the word that you’re spoken for, so there shouldn’t be any trouble, but who knows?” Tucker shrugged nonchalantly. “If any of the customers give you a bad time, you come to me and I’ll take care of it.” Tucker glanced at Matt. “You can take over for Brill at table five. Are you carrying a piece?”
“What do you think?”
Tucker nodded. “Try not to use it.”
As Tucker turned away, Matt took Lacey in his arms and kissed her soundly. She was his, and he intended for every man in the saloon to know it.
Lacey blushed from the roots of her hair to the soles of her feet as Matt’s lips branded her own. Breathless, she gazed into his eyes, a flutter of excitement blossoming in her belly. She had never been kissed in public except by her relatives, and a public display of affection embarrassed her even as it pleased her. There was a boisterous round of applause when Matt let her go.
The next few hours passed quickly. Matt dealt the cards easily, his fingers nimble, his manner relaxed and friendly. He felt a sense of homecoming as he sat there with a drink at his elbow and a fresh deck in his hand. Perhaps this was where he belonged, where he was destined to spend his life, because no matter what else happened, it seemed he always ended up in a saloon with a deck of cards in his hands. He was sorely tempted to deal an ace or two off the bottom, just for the hell of it. He’d never thought to earn his living with a deck of cards again. Indeed, the short time he had spent gambling the past winter had reminded him of why he had quit in the first place. And yet, sitting there, idly shuffling the deck, he felt right at home.
He dealt the cards smoothly. He had given his word to play the cards the way they fell, and he did. As usual, the house won more than it lost, but then, that was to be expected.
No matter what was happening at his table, Matt was aware of Lacey. Once she overcame her initial nervousness and embarrassment at being inside a saloon, she handled herself well. She smiled at the customers, but it was a cool smile, not one of invitation. She frequently glanced in his direction as if to assure herself that he was still there if she needed him. But the men were polite, pleased to see a new face, and a pretty one at that. The word quickly spread that she was not one of the regular girls, and that she was only there to serve drinks, nothing more.
J.J. Tucker’s eyes were frequently on his newest saloon girl. She was a comely wench, pretty as a picture but with an air of innocence that intrigued him. Her figure was nearly perfect, her face without blemish, her hair a mass of soft red-gold waves. Many a man lost a hand at poker or faro because he was watching Lacey’s voluptuous curves when he should have been watching his cards. But no one complained.
J.J. also kept a close eye on the man who called himself Matt Walker. The gambler was as good as he said he was. J.J. sat in for a couple of hands, and he noted that the gambler’s hands were deft and sure when he dealt the cards, a
nd Tucker had no doubt in his mind that Matt Walker could slide an ace off the bottom as easily as off the top when it suited him.
At ten o’clock the sheriff stepped into the saloon on his nightly rounds. Matt felt his mouth go dry as Henderson sauntered over to his table.
“You’re new in town,” the sheriff said, his eyes going over Matt in a long, measuring look.
“That’s right, Sheriff,” Matt replied coolly. He met the lawman’s eyes, one hand on the tabletop, the other resting on his thigh.
Henderson nodded. “I don’t like trouble in my town. If you want to stay, you’d best keep that in mind.”
Matt nodded, his heart slamming against his ribs as the sheriff studied him for another long moment.
“Remember what I said,” Henderson remarked tersely, and left the table.
Matt felt the tension drain out of him as he watched the lawman leave the saloon.
It was going on eleven o’clock when the batwing doors swung open and three men sauntered in. Matt felt the muscles tighten in the back of his neck. Two of the men had been in the Black Horse Saloon the night Billy Henderson died. Both had testified under oath that Matt had gunned the kid down in cold blood.
Matt watched the three men make their way to the bar. They stayed only long enough to drink a beer, and then they were gone, but Matt was satisfied. At least two of the men he was after were still in town.
Lacey glanced at the clock over the bar. Another hour and she would be finished. Her feet were killing her, yet she had rather enjoyed the work. Most of the men had treated her with respect. A few had tried to get fresh, but she had only to remind them that her husband was a very jealous man to cool their ardor. There was something about Matt that made the men wary of him, though Lacey could not put her finger on what it was. He looked the same as always to her, yet, as the night had worn on, she had sensed a subtle difference in him that she could not quite put a name to.
The thought stayed in her mind over the next few days, and she began to notice a new wariness in his eyes. He seemed tense, like a snake coiled to strike at the slightest provocation. At first she thought it was only her too vivid imagination, but then she realized that Matt was a different man when he sat behind a poker table. His senses seemed sharper, his nerves always a little on edge, as if he were expecting trouble and wanted to be ready for it. And yet, it was more than that, and Lacey realized that Matt Drago would be a very dangerous man to run afoul of. And the men who played cards with him knew it.
LaceysWay Page 20
