“Doesn’t he? Maybe he’s just what you’ve been looking for. He’s got plenty of money, enough to give you everything you want. Maybe you should throw in with him.”
“Maybe I should!” Lacey retorted angrily. “At least then I’d have a home of my own, a name of my own!”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“We aren’t even legally married,” Lacey exclaimed, her anger making her reckless. “We were married under fake names, and now we’re living under an assumed surname. Which one shall I give our child, Matt? The one on the marriage license or the one on the hotel register?”
“Give him Tucker’s name,” Matt said, biting off each word. “For all I know, the kid belongs to him!”
Lacey recoiled as if she had been struck. How could he accuse her of such a dreadful thing? She wanted to cry, to lash out at him, to hurt him as she had been hurt, but the words would not come. She felt as though an iron hand were tearing at her insides, squeezing the very breath from her body. And over and over again she heard the anger in his voice, the cruel mockery. For all I know, the kid belongs to him.
She waited for Matt to apologize, to say he was sorry for making such a dreadful accusation, to say something, anything, but he remained mute, his dark eyes cold and distant.
Matt swore under his breath as Lacey’s face went deathly pale. He had hurt her deeply and he knew it, but it was too late to recall the words. He had never realized how deeply his jealousy ran until now, never realized the ugly thoughts that had been lurking in the back of his mind.
That night they slept apart for the first time. Lacey huddled on her side of the bed, careful not to touch Matt, though she wanted nothing more than to be in his arms, to have him kiss away her hurt and assure her that he loved her, that he hadn’t meant what he said, that everything would be all right between them again. How could he be so stubborn? Why couldn’t he forget about Billy Henderson? Why couldn’t they go to Kansas and build a new life together? She wouldn’t mind living under an assumed name if it meant a chance to live a peaceful life with the man she loved.
She stayed awake a long time, hoping Matt would relent and take her in his arms, but he remained on his side of the bed, and after a while she curled into a ball, her hands wrapped protectively around her stomach, tears coursing down her cheeks like silent rain. That was how she fell asleep.
Matt spent a restless night and woke early, his mood dark and unsettled. He glanced at Lacey, sleeping as far away from him as she could get, and he felt his anger rise anew. Why couldn’t she understand how he felt? Did she have any idea what it was like to know that every bounty hunter and lawman this side of the Mississippi considered him fair game? Damn!
Slipping out of bed, he dressed quickly and quietly and went downstairs. Going outside, he leaned against the porch rail, rehashing the argument they’d had the night before. He had said some nasty things to Lacey, made accusations that were absurd in the clear light of day. He grinned wryly. She was pregnant. That took some getting used to. He had never thought of himself as the fatherly type, but the idea was suddenly exciting. He thought of waking her, of telling her how sorry he was for all the terrible things he’d said, and then he decided to let her sleep a little longer. They’d had a rough night; no doubt she could use the rest.
He was going to be a father. Grinning, he headed for the Black Horse. Early as it was, he was going to have a drink to celebrate.
He was halfway to the saloon when Toby Pitman and Lige Tanner fell in on either side of him. Matt swore as he felt the press of a gun barrel against his side.
“Just keep walkin’,” Pitman advised.
“What do you want, Toby?”
“We’re going to have a little talk, that’s all. When we get to the corner, cross the street and head for that old shed on the vacant lot next to Tucker’s place.”
Matt nodded. He felt his muscles tense as Tanner reached inside his coat and relieved him of his gun.
It was early Sunday morning and there were only a few people on the street. Pitman nodded affably to old Mrs. Adams as they passed the boardinghouse, and then they were crossing the street. Tanner unlocked the door to the shed, and when Matt hesitated, Pitman shoved him inside.
When they were all inside the shed, Tanner closed the door, then touched a match to an old kerosene lamp hanging from a nail on the back wall.
“Put your hands behind your back,” Pitman told Matt.
“I thought we were just going to talk,” Matt remarked as Tanner tied his hands behind his back.
“We are,” Pitman replied. He shoved his gun into the waistband of his trousers, then stood spraddle-legged, his fists resting on his hips. “I’m gonna ask you just one more time. Who are you?”
“I told you,” Matt answered evenly. “My name’s Walker.”
Pitman nodded. “I had a feeling you’d be stubborn about this. Shave him, Lige. Let’s see what he looks like under that beard.”
With a nod, Tanner pulled a straight razor from his pocket and quickly removed Matt’s beard and moustache, grinning as the blade drew blood.
Pitman nodded, his pale eyes lighting with recognition as Tanner finished up.
“Drago,” Pitman muttered. “Why the hell did you come back here?”
“Why the hell do you think?”
“It was a damn fool thing to do,” Pitman said with a shake of his head. “We heard you’d escaped, but I never thought you’d be stupid enough to show your face around here. Lige, go get the sheriff. I reckon he’ll be pleased as punch when he sees who we’ve got here.”
Lige Tanner looked uncertain. Then, with a shrug, he left the shed.
“So it was you,” Matt said. “You’re the one who killed Henderson.”
“We’re through talking,” Pitman said gruffly.
“What I can’t figure out is why,” Matt went on. “He was just a kid.”
“I said shut up,” Pitman growled, and drawing back his arm, he drove a meaty fist into Matt’s jaw.
The blow sent Matt reeling backward and he fell heavily. He uttered a hoarse cry of pain as his arm struck an axe handle, swore aloud as the weight of his body snapped the bone in his forearm.
Pitman was leaning down to drag Matt to his feet when the door to the shed creaked open. Without looking up, Pitman called, “Lige, give me a hand here,” and then he grunted softly and fell forward.
With an effort, Matt rolled out of the way. Glancing toward the door, he grinned faintly when he saw Susanne Tucker standing there with a shovel in her hand.
“Get up, quickly,” she urged. “We don’t have much time.”
With a nod, Matt struggled to his feet and followed her out of the shed. Outside, Susanne dropped the shovel and locked the door. Matt’s eyes darted warily from side to side, but the streets were still deserted and no one saw them duck around the side of the Tucker place and enter the house through the back door.
Inside the kitchen, Matt dropped to his knees, then sat back on his heels, his face damp with sweat, his arm throbbing with pain.
“What is it?” Susanne asked.
“My arm,” Matt said in a tight voice. “It’s broken.”
“Oh, dear.” She gazed at Matt, not certain what to do next, the shock of actually venturing outside the house beginning to set in. She had seen Pitman and Tanner take Matt into the shed and she had known that Matt was in trouble. Her first thought had been one of satisfaction, and she hoped Toby Pitman would kill him. After all, Matt had killed Billy. But then she remembered that Matt was Lacey’s husband, and Lacey had been kind to her. Torn between a need for vengeance and a need to help her friend’s husband, she had crept out of the house, not knowing exactly what she was going to do. She paused at the shed’s back window, and though she hadn’t been able to see anything because the window had been boarded up, she had been able to hear most of what was said. Impulsively she had picked up a rusty shovel leaning against the wall, entered the shed, and hit Toby Pitman over the head. The ful
l impact of what she had done left her weak and trembling.
Matt felt lightheaded as waves of pain chased up and down the length of his right arm. He slid a look in Susanne’s direction and wondered if she was all right. She looked worse than he felt, he thought glumly, and he felt like hell.
“Susanne?”
“What?” She looked at him as if she couldn’t remember who he was.
“Do you think you could untie my hands?”
She blinked at him several times. Why was Lacey’s husband in her kitchen?
“Susanne?”
She shook her head, then smiled uncertainly as she began to fumble with the rope binding Matt’s hands together.
Matt choked back a groan as she jarred his broken arm, and then his hands were free. With his left hand, he carefully brought his right arm up, cradling it against his chest. The effort brought a fresh sheen of sweat to his brow. The bone hadn’t broken the skin, but his arm was swollen and turning purple.
Susanne hovered over him, her eyes sympathetic and helpless. She had always hated to see anyone in pain, and she could see that Matt was hurting terribly. His breathing was shallow and rapid, and his eyes, as deep and dark as a midnight sky, were clouded with misery.
“Matt, you can’t stay here.” The words came out in a rush, as though the thought had just occurred to her. “J.J. is asleep upstairs.”
“I’ve got nowhere else to go,” Matt rasped. There was a slim chance that Tucker wouldn’t turn him in, Matt thought glumly. Damn slim.
“The basement,” Susanne said. “Can you make it down to the basement?”
“Sure.” Gritting his teeth, Matt stood up.
“I’ll help you,” Susanne said. Timidly she placed her arm around his waist, and slowly they made their way down the narrow stairway to the basement. Each step sent little shafts of pain dancing down Matt’s arm, and he was sweating heavily when they reached their destination. Wearily, he sank down on the cold stone floor.
“I’ll bring you a blanket and a candle and something to eat,” Susanne said. “Would you like anything else?”
“Do you think you could splint my arm? It hurts like hell.”
Susanne Tucker’s face turned even more pale than usual. “No, I couldn’t. I’ll…I’ll go fetch the doctor.”
“No.”
“Lacey, then?” Susanne suggested. She smiled at the thought of her friend. Lacey would know what to do.
“No,” Matt said. “It’s better if no one knows where I am just now.”
Susanne nodded. “I understand, but…I don’t know how to set a broken bone.”
“I’ll tell you what to do. You just do the best you can.”
“I’ll try.”
“Good. You got any whiskey?”
“Yes. J.J. has some.”
“Good. We’ll need something for a splint, and some cloth to hold it in place.”
“All right.”
Matt looked at her, his eyes probing her face. She seemed so distant that he wondered if she really understood what he was saying. “Could you bring me that whiskey now?”
“Yes, if you like.” On quiet feet she left the basement and went into the dining room.
Matt closed his eyes, willing the pain to go away. He wondered how long it would take before Pitman and the sheriff figured out where he was. He wondered what Lacey would think when she woke and found him gone.
“Matt?”
He opened his eyes and blinked up at Susanne, his mind hazy with pain.
“The whiskey?” She held out a crystal decanter filled with a clear amber liquid.
“Thanks.” Moving carefully so as not to jar his injured arm, he reached for the bottle and took a long drink. The whiskey was smooth as velvet and it warmed him immediately, dulling the ache in his arm. He took another drink, and then another.
Susanne watched him with a worried expression, the glass in her hand forgotten as she watched him drink from the bottle. J.J. rarely had more than a single glass of whiskey in the evening, and that was usually mixed with water. He never drank it straight from the bottle.
Matt sat on his heels, his eyes closed, his broken arm cradled against his chest, for several minutes. The pain had been reduced to a dull ache now, and the whiskey, swallowed fast and landing on an empty stomach, had hit him hard.
“Matt?”
He opened his eyes and gazed up at her. “What?”
“Your arm. What should I do?”
It took him a moment to remember what she was talking about, and then he told her, as best he could, what needed to be done.
It was after ten when Lacey woke up. She knew immediately, without even turning her head, that Matt was gone. The room felt empty, and she was alone.
Had he left her, then? Rising quickly, she hurried to the wardrobe and flung open the door. His clothes were still inside, and she breathed a sigh of relief. Wherever he had gone, he would be coming back.
Slipping into her wrapper, she sat in the chair near the window and gazed into the street below, wondering what she would say to Matt when he returned. She had not meant to blurt out the news that she was pregnant. She had thought to tell him when they were curled up in bed, his arms tight around her, the mood between them warm and loving. She had been certain he would agree to leave this dreadful town when he knew about the baby, certain he would realize it would be best for all concerned if they went to live with her father in Kansas, away from the troubles that plagued them in Salt Creek. She tried to put herself in Matt’s place, tried to understand how he felt. True, it would be terrible to know you were wanted by the law for a crime you hadn’t committed, but they had been in Salt Creek for several months now, and Matt was no closer to finding out who had killed Billy Henderson than when they arrived.
She sat by the window for a long time, waiting for Matt to return. It wasn’t until he had been gone for nearly three hours that she began to worry. Where could he be?
Dressing, she left the room and went into the hotel dining room. Perhaps he was lingering over a cup of coffee. But he wasn’t there either, and she left the hotel and walked briskly toward the livery stable. His horse was still there, quietly munching a flake of hay. His saddle and bridle were in place as well, together with his saddlebags and canteen.
“Can I help you, ma’am?”
Lacey turned as Clyde Booker came up behind her. She smiled a greeting at the stable owner. “I was looking for my husband.”
Clyde Booker shook his head. “Ain’t seen him this morning, Miz Walker.”
“Thank you,” Lacey said, and picking up her skirts, she left the barn and walked slowly back toward the hotel. Where was Matt?
At the Black Horse, she stopped outside the batwing doors and peeked inside, but there was no sign of Matt. Back at the hotel, she sat in the lobby for an hour, idly thumbing through an old newspaper, her thoughts tumbling madly as she tried to surmise her husband’s whereabouts.
At six-thirty she began to get ready for work. Surely Matt would show up at the saloon. She took pains with her appearance, wanting to look especially pretty when she saw him again. Whatever was wrong between them could be worked out. Anything would be better than facing the future without Matt. Just being without him for a few short hours had taught her that.
She arrived at the saloon a little late, breathless from hurrying down the street. Her eyes swept the saloon as she stepped inside, but Matt was nowhere to be seen. The table he usually occupied was empty.
It was then that the first real twinge of fear made itself known. Something was wrong.
“Evening, Lacey,” J.J. said, coming to stand beside her. “Where’s that husband of yours?”
“I don’t know,” Lacey admitted, and burst into tears.
Frowning, J.J. put his arms around Lacey’s shoulders and led her into his private office, a large and ornately furnished room behind the bar.
Closing the door, he poured Lacey a shot of bourbon. “Here, drink this. It’ll make you feel better.”
>
With a sniff, Lacey took the glass and obediently drank it down. The whiskey burned a path to her stomach and brought a quick flush to her cheeks.
“Now, what do you mean, you don’t know where he is?” Tucker asked kindly.
“I mean I don’t know,” Lacey said, dabbing at her eyes with the back of her hand. “When I got up this morning he was gone, and I haven’t seen him all day.”
J.J. Tucker’s face did not change expression. It would be a shame to lose Matt Walker. The man was a hell of a dealer, probably the best J.J. had ever seen, and he’d seen plenty. On the other hand, with Walker out of the picture, J.J. would have a clear field with Lacey. A little kindness, a little understanding during a trying time, and the next thing you knew, she would be eating out of the palm of his hand—and sleeping in his bed.
Lacey gazed up at Tucker, her eyes brimming with tears. She had never been overly fond of the man, but at this moment he seemed like the only friend she had in the world.
“There, there,” J.J. said, pulling her into his arms. “Go ahead and cry if it will make you feel better.”
And cry she did. The tears flowed, seemingly without end, and Tucker held her all the while, his hands soothing as they patted her back, his voice soft and consoling as he assured her that everything would be all right.
“Maybe you shouldn’t work tonight,” J.J. suggested. “Why don’t you just stay in here and relax? I’ll order some dinner from the hotel later, and we can have a nice talk. Meanwhile, I’ll ask around and see if I can learn anything about your husband’s whereabouts.”
“Thank you, J.J.,” Lacey said, her voice filled with gratitude. “I really don’t feel like working tonight.”
“It’s settled then,” Tucker said, giving her a disarming smile. “You just rest awhile, and I’ll look in on you later.”
Lacey nodded. Perhaps she had misjudged the man. He was really very kind. For a few minutes she wandered around his office. It was expensively furnished with a large mahogany desk, an overstuffed black leather chair, a pair of brass oil lamps, a comfortable sofa, and a small bar stocked with several kinds of whiskey and a tray of crystal glassware.
LaceysWay Page 23
