Sweet and soft, he savored the intimate contact with her. He needed to touch her and now that he had, he wondered how long he could go before needing to again. He was a man who could control himself but damn if he wasn’t close to tossing all that control to the wind. It’d been a long time since he felt this way about a woman.
“Are they gone yet?” he asked quietly. He still protected her with his body.
“What?” Her rapid breath and flushed face aroused him yet again, and he willed himself not to skim her curves with his hands. He took it as small comfort that she wasn’t immune from him, no matter how hard she tried to pretend otherwise.
“I’m sorry I threw myself at you,” she said in a frantic whisper. “I saw Sandoval and wanted to hide.”
“You can hide behind me anytime.” Logan allowed his thumb to caress her cheek before he turned around to scan the street. He wanted to get a good look at the bastard in question.
“He’s gone,” Claire said from behind him. “My mama’s not at this hotel, but she could still be in town. I plan on staying the night. If you need to move on, I understand.”
“No.” He continued to scrutinize the street. “I’ll be staying, too. I’ll get us a room together.”
“Pardon me?”
“There’s no way in hell I’m leaving you alone if Sandoval is here. I’ll sign us in as a married couple. Do you have a middle name?”
Claire appeared flustered and confused. Logan could certainly relate to that.
“Margaret,” she replied. “Why?”
“Well, that won’t do,” he said. “I’ll register us as Logan and Peggy Ryan.”
She nodded uncertainly. “That kiss,” she said, “you realize that I’m not going to…that I’m not going to entertain you, no matter how much you offer me.”
Logan looked at her and enjoyed the appealing angles of her face, her small, straight nose, the green eyes that suddenly flashed with defiance. He supposed she wouldn’t be worth the effort if she came to him easily. Not that he was pursuing her.
“I seem to recall you threw yourself at me, Claire, not the other way around. Your inexperience shows.”
Hell, that came out wrong.
The flash of humiliation on her face confirmed it.
“Claire—” But she disappeared into the hotel before he could stop her.
Nice going.
He went inside and within ten minutes they were registered as Mr. and Mrs. Ryan. In an uneasy silence they went to their room to get settled.
Chapter Six
Claire sat in the tiny hotel room and waited for Logan to return. Despite the darkness of night, he still felt it too dangerous for her to be out in the open asking questions about Maggie Waters. Shortly after he brought her to the room, he left to see what he could learn on his own.
Getting to her feet, Claire began pacing. The room was small and simply furnished—a wooden chair and a narrow nightstand with a pitcher and basin atop it were placed near a broad window; an additional table stood against the wall opposite the bed, the white marble top perched on three spindly legs. A chamber pot sat discreetly in one corner. Then there was the modest double bed, covered by a faded blue quilt; it unwillingly drew her gaze again and again. A black, wrought iron frame marked the territory clearly, filling her mind with Logan, his mouth and his hands, his presence. The way he kissed her on the porch made her pulse quicken and her limbs feel weak, even in memory.
She wondered over and over why she’d pressed herself on him that way.
Fear.
Sandoval terrified her, and the sight of him had flooded panic in her. Vague images of her lying in a cactus-filled arroyo all those months ago clouded her thoughts—her face in the dirt, bloodied and beaten, her life slipping away. Which desert animal would attack first and finish the job?
This afternoon, her legs carried her to Logan, and instinct snagged his undivided attention as only a woman could. She’d wanted protection, and Logan would do the job. Obviously, she was desperate enough to get that protection in any way she could. She threw herself into his arms, then told him she wasn’t available to him.
Claire closed her eyes and hung her head. A good prostitute would have at least followed through on the promise of payment. If her mama were here, she’d probably scold her for not using that most basic lesson of the business.
Everyone had a price. Even Claire.
She forced the thoughts aside. She would decide how to handle Logan later. Right now, she had family matters to consider.
It didn’t make sense for her to stay put. Logan didn’t know her mama or Jimmy, or what either of them looked like. In his haste to leave, she hadn’t had the chance to tell him she’d brought along the wig.
She retrieved the black mop from her leather satchel as well as the black dress Louisa had loaned her. She debated whether to wear it, since she planned to check out the St. James Saloon. Would such a dress draw unnecessary attention, or would the simple cotton calico she’d also brought make her stand out more? For a few indecisive moments she wondered what to do, then quickly removed the trousers and oversized shirt she wore, and wriggled into the saloon dress.
She’d forgotten the stockings so she pulled the fancy black boots painfully over bare feet. She twisted her long hair into a bun and stuffed it beneath the wig as she positioned the black tresses around her shoulders, arranging it in, what she hoped, was a natural-looking display. A quick scan of herself in a small oval mirror on the wall above the nightstand showed a dreadful reflection—the wig did nothing for her complexion and the dress pushed her breasts together in an obscene display of skin. She grabbed the Mexican blanket and wrapped it around her shoulders like a shawl. A minor improvement.
Aware she couldn’t just traipse out the front entrance of the hotel looking like this, she muttered thanks that their room was on the first floor and faced away from the street. She pushed the lacy curtains aside, and groaned as her arms strained to push the window upward. She perched herself on the edge of the windowsill, swung her legs out, then leaned forward and fell to the ground in a muffled heap.
* * *
Logan puffed a cigar acquired at Schwenk’s Hall as he crossed the street and headed toward the St. James. Folks in town were a bit skittish these days, if the talk he heard was any indication. Problems over the Maxwell Land Grant persisted—the investors who had taken it over in 1870 from Lucien Maxwell were trying to push squatters and settlers from their property, and if the rumors were correct, doing it in an underhanded way. Two years ago an outspoken Reverend Tolby, speaking against the false allegations directed at the townsfolk, was killed. It set off a chain of events that had left the local constable dead. More deaths had ensued, and people in town still distrusted the men who worked as official Grant Representatives. And the most interesting tidbit of all was that Luttrell had been one such representative.
Logan shook his head—two million acres of land. It was a damn powerful motivator, and he doubted Griffin and Sandoval had kept their hands clean of the mess.
So far, as he investigated various establishments around town, he’d found no sign of Maggie Waters or young Jimmy. He hoped to turn up something at the St. James. It was either that or return to the cramped hotel room, give Claire news she didn’t want to hear, then attempt to keep his hands to himself. A few stiff drinks ought to cure that impulse.
Like hell.
He’d deal with sharing a room with Claire later.
He entered the saloon, scanned the crowded room, and headed to the bar at the back. He ordered bourbon and had no sooner taken his first sip, before a heavily perfumed and well-packaged young woman sauntered over to him and smiled.
“Evening,” he said.
“It is now.” She twisted her torso to make her ample bosom quite apparent to him.
She wore a breast-revealing deep red dress that made Logan think of Claire’s saloon get-up.
“Haven’t seen you around here before.” She patted her thick red curls. “W
ould you like some company tonight?”
The answer to that last question was yes, but it was Claire’s company he wanted. Still, she might have useful information. “I’m in search of a blonde,” he said, referring to Claire’s description of her mama. She’d said the two of them looked almost like sisters.
The girl began to pout, which made her appear less attractive. “I may not be blonde but I can still show you a good time.” She lowered her voice and winked. “And I’m red everywhere. That’s what everyone calls me…Red.”
Logan laughed and swallowed his drink in one shot. He’d never figure out women but they were damn interesting. “I’m lookin’ for Maggie Waters. Seen her lately?”
“Maybe. Any particular reason?”
Logan shrugged. “What reason would a man need to look for a woman?”
The redhead looked around the room then leaned close. “Just a bit of advice, handsome. Maggie Waters likes to stir up trouble. Why go chasin’ after that? I’ll take care of you.” She stuck a finger into the open collar of his shirt and tickled his chest hair. “For as long as you like.”
Logan removed her hand. Life had always slid around him rather easily, and rarely did it raise his shackles, but he didn’t particularly care for Red’s touch, as flattering as he supposed it was. But this wasn’t flattery, Red was working. And his thoughts, and desire, were on a tightly-wound woman who dreamt of becoming a doctor.
However, Red might know more than she was letting on, so he ordered another drink and settled in for a time.
* * *
Claire stared at Logan again.
The damn man isn’t looking for my mama, he’s looking for a good time. The redhead was all over him, and he clearly enjoyed it. A sharp stab of disappointment and humiliation welled up in her. From experience she pushed it aside, but it wouldn’t let her go. She’d grown up in a saloon, had seen men behave like this all the time. It was normal, it was expected, but watching Logan flirt with that woman cut Claire to the bone like nothing else ever had.
With tears in her eyes she ducked out of the saloon as quickly as she had entered and lost herself in the darkness behind the building. What should she do now?
“She cries for her boy at night. I’d watch your back.”
Claire froze at the sound of that voice with a Mexican accent. Sandoval.
“I can take care of Didi, but this shit with Maggie is taking too long.”
Griffin!
Quietly, she stepped farther into the shadows and peeked around the corner of the building. Sandoval tied off his horse while Frank Griffin’s tall frame stood in silhouette beside him. They disappeared into the saloon.
Claire’s mind raced. Was her mama with them? Maybe they were holding her somewhere, against her will. And what about Jimmy? Her stomach clenched in protest, but she knew what she needed to do. And to do it, she would need her horse.
Quickly she ran to the next street and spotted the stable where she and Logan had left the animals before settling at the hotel. As she entered the structure, the scent of hay and manure overwhelmed her senses, causing her to pause and catch her breath. A young boy jumped to his feet from where he’d been dozing on a stool.
“I’d like to take my horse, please,” Claire said. “Would you mind saddling that one?” She pointed to Reverend, who slumbered in a corner stall. She made a silent apology to her old friend for disturbing him.
“Yes, ma’am,” the boy replied. He rubbed his eyes and squinted at her. “And who would you be?”
“Clai-” she stopped abruptly. “Mrs. Ryan.”
The boy nodded. “That sounds ‘bout right.”
After what seemed an excruciatingly long wait, the boy saddled Reverend and brought the horse to her.
“Thank you.” Claire moved swiftly out of the stable and led Reverend back to the St. James.
With relief, she saw that the two horses Sandoval and Griffin had tethered to the rail hadn’t moved, indicating the two men remained inside the saloon. All she had to do was bide her time until they came back out, then follow them. She wiped her palms on the frilly skirt of her dress and waited nervously, several times reconsidering her plan, but ultimately deciding it was the best course of action.
* * *
Thanks to the redhead Logan learned that the two men who entered the saloon were Frank Griffin and Raul Sandoval. Jackpot! He half-listened to Red as he watched them.
Tall and lanky, Sandoval pushed back his shoulder-length black hair from his pockmarked face in greasy strands. Even if Logan hadn’t known what the man had done to Claire, he would never have made the mistake of turning his back on him. Sandoval looked the type to betray his own mother if he thought it would save his hide. Logan knew Claire couldn’t have stood a chance against this bastard.
But Logan would. Expectation thrummed in his veins as he anticipated a confrontation.
The men walked past where he sat, and Frank Griffin resembled Dee too much to leave any doubt that they were brother and sister. They shared the same brown hair—although Frank’s had thinned—and the same enigmatic eyes, deep-set and compelling. On Dee the look had been seductive, on Frank it was simply shrewd and dangerous.
Griffin and Sandoval took seats at a table on the far side of the room where they ordered drinks and ogled an occasional saloon girl, but mostly they talked. And drank sparingly. Smart men. Then, suddenly, they were on their feet, headed for the door.
“Wouldn’t you say?” the redhead was asking Logan.
“Yeah, sure.” Logan threw a glance her way and pushed away from the bar. “Thanks for the conversation, Red, but it’s time I was on my way.”
“Hold on.” She pulled on his arm. “I’ve spent a good hour with you. Aren’t you gonna make it worth my while?”
“And here I thought you fancied my good looks.” He turned, but through the window could still see Griffin and Sandoval headed around the side of the building. “It was your choice to chat with me.”
“Are you daft? I don’t want to chat with you. I’m trying to make a living here.”
“It’s always a crapshoot, darlin’.” Logan shrugged. “I thought I made it clear, I have a thing for blondes.” One blonde in particular. His mouth twitched slightly at the string of names Red called him, but he left without a backward glance.
He moved swiftly to the stable that housed Storm and immediately noticed that Reverend was missing. A slight shake to the stable boy woke him up.
“Where’s the other horse I brought in earlier?” Logan asked.
“What?” the boy asked, blinking rapidly. “Oh, the lady came and took him.”
“What lady?” Logan got a bad feeling. He seemed to have a lot of those lately since he'd found Claire.
“Mrs. Ryan.”
“What did she look like?”
“Well, she was a right fine-lookin’ lady, although she must’ve been headed for one of the saloons.”
“Why?”
“Considerin’ the way she was dressed.” The boy scratched his mussed brown hair. “You two havin’ marital problems?”
“You’re too young to talk like that. What color was her hair?” he asked, a gnawing suspicion taking root in his gut.
“Black,” the boy answered. “Almost didn’t look real.”
“No shit,” Logan muttered. He should’ve known she wouldn’t do what he told her. And it’d never occurred to him to rifle through her belongings, but in hindsight he probably should have. “Any idea where she went?”
“No, sir.” The boy shook his head.
Logan pulled a coin from his pocket and gave it to the boy. “Saddle my horse and make it fast.”
“Yes, sir.” The boy hustled to the task.
* * *
Claire did her best to stay far enough behind Griffin and Sandoval as they rode through town so they wouldn’t notice her, but twice she almost lost them. She pulled the Mexican blanket around her, yet still elicited unwanted attention from men as she rode by the other few establishm
ents in town. Unfortunately, the blanket didn’t cover her exposed legs and they seemed to be a beacon to any male within a quarter mile.
Claire had been to Cimarron once before, accompanying her mama to interview new girls for the saloon. Maggie hadn't felt well but refused to delay the journey, so Claire had insisted on coming to watch over her. She’d spent most of the time, however, at the hotel where she and Logan now resided, taking care of Jimmy. When they returned to Las Vegas, her mama had only acquired one girl—Louisa Pérez.
Griffin and Sandoval headed toward the mountains and away from the cluster of buildings in town. The main road was part of the Santa Fe Trail—the very lifeblood of the community—which wound its way through the center of town. But there had to be more to this place than Trail business, Claire thought, as she moved into unfamiliar terrain.
She lagged farther behind, afraid her horse might be heard. Luckily, there was a clearly marked path so she followed it and hoped she wouldn’t lose them, hoped also they wouldn’t see her.
What am I doing out here?
Trying to find out what happened to Mama and Jimmy, she reminded herself. She would head back to the hotel as soon as she made certain the two of them weren’t wherever it was Griffin and Sandoval were going. She needed to keep her mind on that goal. Hopefully Logan would be none the wiser.
An image of him and the redhead flashed to mind. If she caught him in their room, with that woman…the man would certainly have more sense than that. Damn him. It was nothing short of stupid, forming an attachment to him.
As she rounded a bend, she noticed in the distance the dark outline of a house. Light glowed from the windows and smoke swirled from the chimney. Claire stopped Reverend and dismounted—grateful she didn’t fall this time—and led the horse into the underbrush.
She secured her horse out of sight and draped the colorful blanket over the saddle. Then, she crept closer to the structure. Griffin and Sandoval’s animals were nowhere to be seen. They must have put them in the back and gone inside. Claire stayed where she was for a time, nervous about moving closer, but she wanted to make certain she didn’t miss anything important. No movement was visible inside the house and there was no indication as to who or where the occupants might be.
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