by Sharon Ihle
Mariah slowly rose from the chair, swallowing her tears before she could say, "Things are fine, Zack. Come on in."
As he limped into the room, Mariah met him halfway and threw her arms around his shoulders. "I have to leave now," she whispered in his ear. Then she stepped away from him.
Turning to his wife, he asked, "Everything okay, woman?"
Oda, a little wobbly in the voice, said, "She needs to go to her room and be by herself for a while."
Zack stopped Mariah before she left, and said, "Don't think too small of me or Oda, baby. She had a hard time of it a while back."
Mariah took his hand for a moment and squeezed. "She had you the minute things got rough. How bad could it have been?"
His face coloring all the way to his hairline, he said, "I've always figured she got the short end of the stick, with me being a one-legged fellah and all, but I do believe that there's someone for everyone, Mariah. Oda and I are about a perfect match. Can't think of another woman who'd want me, or a man that'd put up with her. I know the good side of that woman, and so do you. See if you can't find it in yourself to forgive her, if there's even anything to forgive."
"I'll have to think about it some more, Dad." The familial term had rolled off her tongue automatically, and Mariah realized with sudden clarity that Zachariah Penny would always be her father. And that she would always love him, no matter how many lies he'd told, or whom her mother had been with at the moment of her conception. She put her arms around his neck and soundly kissed his cheek. "I love you, Dad. I always will."
His throat tight, he whispered, "And I love you, baby. Good night."
Mariah continued down the hall to her room, but the minute she heard the latch click into place on her father's door, she reversed her direction and tiptoed to room 226. With no hesitation, she tapped lightly on the door.
A few moments later, Cain opened it. "Mariah. Is everything all right?"
Anxious not to be seen by Zack, Oda, or any other hotel guest as she entered his room, Mariah ignored the question and swept by Cain, pushing the door shut behind them. Only the small lamp on his bed table was lit, giving off a soft, beckoning glow. The bedspread and blankets were pulled back, the Durango Herald was strewn across the exposed flannel sheets, and the pillows were mussed.
Cain caught Mariah's hand, turned her to face him, and studied her expression. If anything had changed since they'd parted, it didn't look as if it had been for the good. The sadness in her eyes had increased and perhaps deepened into sorrow. "Your coming here isn't a good idea, Mariah. I thought we decided that down at the river."
"Yes, we did," she said. "But it isn't every night a girl finds out that she's a bastard."
"Damn, is that what—"
"Shush. I don't want to talk about it right now." And she didn't. She just wanted to look at Cain. God, but he was incredibly handsome in the shadowy lighting. Mariah thought she'd never seen anything that looked as good to her as this man did at this moment. His thick auburn hair was rumpled and had grown to an appealing length over the past few weeks. He was in jeans and stocking feet, but in his haste to answer her knock, he'd thrown on his shirt without bothering to button it. Parted down the center because of the oversight, it offered a seductive glimpse of his sleek skin and chiseled muscles.
Mariah impulsively drove her fingers into that convenient slot, forcing the edges of the material wide apart, and slid her hands along his naked skin to his back. Then she met his surprised gaze with a smoldering look of her own, and said, "I don't care what we agreed on down at the river. I need you. And I need you now."
Chapter 10
Mariah's hands on his body, the curiosity in her touch, were at once heaven and hell, but Cain denied himself the satisfaction of responding, and concentrated only on the despair he saw in her eyes. "Don't test me, princess," he said thickly. "I'm only human, you know."
"This isn't a test, and I don't know what you mean when you say you're only human. Why don't you show me?" She slid closer to Cain and brought her hips up tight against his. "Show me the way you feel like you did down at the river."
Along with the challenge, Mariah threw her head back, exposing the silky column of her neck. Cain took a good long look at that inviting sight, an even longer glimpse of the woman beneath the invitation, and said, "All right, princess. If that's what you want, I will."
He took her into his arms then, nearly sweeping her off of her feet, and drew her to him so gently, and so very tenderly, for a moment she thought she'd imagined the gesture. Then he began to kiss her, again gentle in his touch, starting with her forehead. He moved downward from there, bestowing her eyelids with tiny little kisses, and finally went on to her mouth, barely skimming her lips with his in a gesture more caress than kiss. Then he tucked her head against his chest beneath his chin, folding her tighter in his arms, and began to rock her, slowly swaying her to the beat of his heart.
After several minutes, Cain leaned back, lifted her chin with his index finger, and stared into her eyes. They were wet again, but the despair was gone. He smiled as he quietly said, "That's how I feel about you, princess. I hope now you finally understand how much you mean to me."
Tears were everywhere—in her throat, her eyes, and running down her cheeks—but Mariah didn't feel the least bit sad. If she felt anything at that moment, it was confusion. She didn't know what she thought about anything—not Cain, not Zack or Oda, and not even herself. Suddenly eager for a little solitude, she sniffed back her tears and whispered, "I guess I ought to go back to my room now."
Cain took her by the elbow and steered her to the door. "I think you'll find that a good night's sleep is what you need most. In the morning, your head will be clearer and you'll have a fresher outlook on things."
As he pulled open the door, Mariah turned to him, eyes dry now, but wide with alarm. "Wait a minute."
"Now what?"
"You're not sending me away because you, ah..." She bit her lip, trying to find the right words. "You didn't borrow any more money from Zack, did you?"
* * *
The next morning Cain was still laughing over Mariah's parting words. Apparently she hadn't quite understood how much he cared for her, or how difficult it had been for him to turn her away. Once she got her problems with Zack and Oda worked out, he intended to make damn sure she knew what he was about, in no uncertain terms.
Cain thought back to the shy way Mariah had glanced at him earlier in the morning when he'd stopped by her room to collect his hat. Clutching her robe at her throat, her hair mussed, eyes languid with sleep, she'd looked so warm and cuddly, it was all he could do to form the words "good morning" instead of just barging right in on her. Oh, yes, he thought, his blood heating: She'd know exactly how he felt about her before the week was out. And it wouldn't be a minute too soon.
Whistling as he stepped into the livery and up to the medicine wagon, Cain opened his jacket, withdrew Daisy, and set her down on the scattered straw littering the main aisle of the stables. "You go on over in the corner and get your business out of the way, you raggedy-eared mutt, and then we'll get this show on the road." But she didn't move. Instead, she sat up, rolling her big brown eyes at Cain in complete adoration, and propped her little white feet right in front of her nose. "Begging isn't going to do you a damn bit of good, Daisy. Your love potion days are over. Now skedaddle." He clapped his hands, and the animal fell to all fours and ran off.
Cain had just started up the walkway to get the mules, when the little dog began barking frantically. Then a frightened voice cried out from beneath the wagon.
"Help. Help me. Get it off of me."
Cain dropped to his knees to see Daisy attacking a man who was curled into a fetal position. She was circling him like a band of Indians, occasionally dipping in and out of the perimeters she'd drawn in order to nip at his back, buttocks, and shoulders.
"Daisy, no," Cain shouted. "Bad dog."
Artemis, who was still half-asleep, wasn't exactly sure what was after him—
a dog, a coyote, or even a wolf. He swung out blindly, protecting himself, and connected with a ball of fur. The animal yelped once and then ran from the barn, howling all the way.
"Daisy," Cain said as she scampered off. "Come back here." But she didn't even slow down. She disappeared around the corner and shot toward Main Avenue. Assuming that the dog was headed back to the hotel and her mistress, Cain bent over and looked under the wagon again. His new assistant was still curled into a ball. "You can come on out now. She's gone."
Artemis, more afraid of this man than he'd been of the dog, slowly wormed his way out from under his shelter for the night. As he stood up, he brushed the bits of straw and dirt off of his clothing and then dragged his hands along the sides of his head to smooth his hair.
Cain looked him up and down, frowning as he said, "You told Zack you had a place to stay. Is this it?"
"Oh, n-no, sir. I just wanted to be here first thing in the morning." He spit out a shaft of straw he'd somehow sucked into his mouth during the night. "I didn't want to be late for the show my first day on the job."
"I think we'd rather have you late than looking like a basketful of week-old wash." He studied the young man's head and the odd little tuft of hair sticking up like a warrior's feather. "You got a comb?"
Artemis colored, and then his mouth fell into a sheepish grin. "A comb ain't gonna fix what you're looking at. That there's my natural dunce cap."
Cain walked around to the back of the young man, noticing the scar and the way the hair grew at its crest, and continued on around him until they were face-to-face again. "I see you have a little problem with that cowlick back there, but why would you call it a dunce cap? Do you like making fun of yourself that way?"
Artemis couldn't have fibbed to this great legend of the law even if he'd had a story prepared. Through teeth that were chattering so much he could barely talk, he said, "A-ain't my idea." He chuckled nervously. "M-my b-brother says it's a dunce cap 'cause I'm so danged stupid most times."
At this news, the marshal's expression grew even sterner than it already was. Artemis had heard plenty about this lawman, all of it bad, so he quickly said, "'Course, it's all right with me if you want to call me a dunce, t-too. I'm used to it."
"Well, I'm not." Muttering to himself, Cain opened the padlock at the back of the wagon and stepped inside. When he came back out, he was carrying the straight-edged razor Mariah used to keep his Lincoln beard trimmed. Opening the instrument to reveal the blade, he said, "Turn around, son."
Why? Artemis wondered. So the man wouldn't have to look into his eyes as he carved him up? Did he know Artemis was a Doolittle? That was it—he knew. He knew. Grabbing his throat as he backed away, Artemis blurted out, "I ain't done nothing wrong, Marshal. Weren't m-me what done any of it, I swear."
Mariah, who'd just stepped inside the barn, froze. Had she heard right? Had their new employee just referred to Cain by his former title?
Cain froze too, a sudden headache the cause of his immobility. Something the young man had said disturbed him, but what was it? Everything had gone kind of fuzzy on him, yet he could feel that the answers were there, so close, on the tip of his brain if not on his tongue. How could he reach out to decipher them? Maybe if he tried a little harder, really tried this time.
"Cain," Mariah called, horrified to think what his reaction might be. Which man would turn to her? The one who consumed her thoughts day and night, or the lawman?
The sound of Mariah's voice, along with the panic in her tone, broke Cain's concentration. He glanced down at the razor in his hand, and then at the young man still clutching his throat. Laughing at the sight this combination must have presented to her, he said, "I'm just about to give your new assistant a little trim. What did you think I was going to do—slit his throat?"
It was Cain. Her Cain. Breathing a sigh of relief, Mariah continued on into the barn. "What I think doesn't matter, but you really should have let Artemis know what you were planning to do to him."
Cain shifted his gaze from Mariah to the young man. He did look frightened, as if he expected some physical harm, rather than the simple haircut Cain had in mind. Had this brother Artemis mentioned been as cruel to his body as he'd been to his mind? Cain chose his words carefully and spoke softly, "I'm trying to help you, son, not hurt you. Now turn around."
Artemis's knees were knocking something terrible, but since the lawman had given him a direct order, and he couldn't think what else to do anyway, Artemis spun on his heel and stood shaking. An enormous hand touched his shoulder, the fingers bigger than any he'd ever felt, and then moved up to his head. Artemis squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the pain, but all at once, those big hands returned to his shoulders and turned him back around. When he opened his eyes, he was staring into the lawman's face again.
"There," Cain said, flinging the shaft of hair to the ground. "Now you don't have that dunce cap on your head anymore. A grown man shouldn't run around thinking he's a dunce."
A grown man? Artemis backed away, uncomfortable being in such close proximity to the lawman, and then thought about what he'd said. No one had ever called him a man before, much less a grown-up. And no one had ever thought to cut off that dunce cap, either. Artemis reached up, feeling the spot, and found it smooth, merely a small extension of his scar.
Why was this Slater fellow being so nice to him? Was it just another of the marshal's clever tricks? He knows I'm a Doolittle, he does. Artemis backed toward the stalls, nearly falling over his own feet in his haste to put some distance between himself and the lawman.
Cain, already turning away from the young man, didn't notice the sudden movement, but Mariah did.
As Cain ducked back inside the wagon to replace the razor, she moved closer to her new assistant. Although the "danger" had passed, Artemis still looked frightened, as if he might even faint. He hadn't been so afraid of the razor after all, she suddenly realized, but of the man. And the fact that Artemis had referred to Cain as "Marshal" meant that he knew that Brother Law was Morgan Slater. Why had he waited until now to even mention the fact? And why was he so afraid of him?
Cain climbed down from the wagon then, and Mariah's heart lurched. Artemis may have been frightened of this man, but now, she was terrified. What if this new assistant of hers should refer to Cain as a marshal again? And what if the next time, Cain heard it and understood who he was? She had to have a private talk with Artemis. And soon.
"Did you find Daisy?" Cain asked as he came up alongside her.
"Daisy? You took her with you when you stopped by my room this morning."
"Yes, but..." Cain paused to glance over at Artemis. "She got upset when I brought her into the barn, and ran off. I thought she'd gone back to the hotel."
Mariah groaned. "This town has an ordinance prohibiting dogs from running loose, and the sheriff generally doesn't have another thing to do but go around looking for strays. She's probably in jail."
Cain laughed, sure she was kidding. "Oh, come on. She must be back at the hotel."
"No, Cain. She's not."
Artemis spoke up. "I'll go get her, Miss Princess. It was me scared her off."
She glanced at the young man, seeing the perfect opportunity for a little discussion. "Why don't we get her together? I'll probably need someone along with me to convince the sheriff that I really do own that dog, anyway."
"Now wait a minute," Cain said, piqued. "I thought you couldn't afford to be seen by the sheriff."
Mariah gave him a sheepish grin. "I didn't want to report that 'robbery,' remember? I doubt he'll recognize me as Princess Tanacoa, in any case. Besides," she said, adding the final inducement for Cain to stay behind, "Zack is waiting on the corner of Seventh for you to bring up the medicine wagon. Artemis and I shouldn't have any trouble with the sheriff. Zack got permits for everyone, including Daisy."
"Me, too, Princess?" Artemis asked.
She corrected him as they walked out of the barn. "Please call me Mariah, and yes, we got a permi
t for you too."
Walking backwards so he could see the beautiful woman buried deep inside the large black bonnet, Artemis said, "Hey. I thought you was really a Kickapoo Indian. What happened to your face?"
Mariah's smile was indulgent but calculated as she explained the necessity of posing as an Indian. By the time they'd reached the steps of City Hall, Artemis not only seemed to understand, but had sworn on his mother's grave never to divulge her secret, and Mariah was pretty sure she'd gained a lifelong fan.
Once inside the cavernous building, they were shown to a bench just outside the sheriff's open door and told they would be called when he finished his interview with a reporter from the Durango Herald. From this vantage point, Artemis could hear almost every word of the conversation going on inside the office, but he was far too interested in the gorgeous creature sitting beside him to pay too much attention to what they were discussing. At first.
Just as he opened his mouth to ask the princess if she ever planned to marry, Artemis distinctly heard a voice from inside the sheriff's office say, "I don't know why you want to keep running stories about a couple of bank robberies that happened damn near two months ago. That Doolittle Gang is probably all the way to Kansas by now."
Unable to stop himself, Artemis gasped, and then smashed his head flat against the wall.
"What's wrong?" Mariah asked, alarmed by the fear she saw in his eyes.
"N-nothing, ma'am. J-just a little gas." He squeezed his eyes shut, hoping he had enough strength to hang on tight to his seat, for if he let go, he was pretty sure he'd bolt right out the front door.
Suspecting that his anxiety had something to do with the conversation in the other room, Mariah cocked her head toward the doorway. A man she assumed to be the sheriff was talking.
"Why don't you newspaper types concentrate on the real troubles we got around here with them god-dang Utes?"
"Because the Indian Rights Association frowns on that sort of journalism. Now back to the subject, Horace. I'm on deadline and just have a couple of questions left. Would you mind answering them?" A pause, and then the same voice: "We understand that this U.S. marshal, Morgan Slater, is supposed to be tracking the Doolittle Gang. Is there any truth to the rumor that he was killed by them?"
