“I don’t need a damn preacher following me around,” Dillon grumbled.
Abby closed her eyes, silently asking for patience. She knew they needed to placate Dillon if they were to discover his secrets.
“Mr. Dillon, I don’t know either of you at all, but you can see why I might trust the reverend?”
Her brow rose in question. She turned before Dillon had a chance to protest.
“Reverend, if you would kindly accompany Mr. Dillon to the telegraph office, I would happily give you a small percentage of what he owes me…for your church, of course.”
She smiled sweetly. Max returned her smile, but his gaze told her he was less than pleased with her machinations. He took her elbow.
“Only if you allow me to accompany you from this…this saloon,” he finished exasperated, as though unable to think of a word vile enough to condemn the place. Abby would have grinned at his theatrics if it weren’t for the pressure of his fingers.
“I am perfectly capable—”
“I insist.”
He steered her toward the saloon doors, directly behind Dillon.
As Max hauled her along the street, Abby lifted her dress to keep from tripping and having the ruffles dragged through the rain puddles.
“Would you please slow down?” she whispered frantically.
“Not on your life, sweetheart,” he growled. “The sooner we get to the telegraph office, the sooner I’m going to blister your backside for taking off, again!”
There would be no reasoning with him until he calmed down. Well, she could be stubborn, too. Glancing around, she decided it was time for a diversion. She dug in her heels and pulled back on his grip.
“I would like to stop in here and purchase a few things,” she said calmly, nodding to the mercantile they were passing. Max looked toward the store, down the street where Dillon was still walking, then back at her.
“Now?”
She smiled at him.
“Yes, now. You need to follow Dillon and find out who he wires for the money. I’ll meet you back at the hotel.”
“Abby—” He said her name in warning.
“It is broad daylight, Max, and you will have an eye on Dillon. No one’s going to harm me.”
She patted his coat front.
“We are not through discussing this.”
Abby decided to let him win.
“Yes, I know.”
Shaking his head, he opened the door to the store.
“You don’t have me fooled for a minute, Abigail O’Brien. But you’d better be in that room when I return or you won’t like the consequences.”
She shivered, not in fear, but rather in anticipation. It wasn’t what he said, but his low, husky voice that told her he intended something other than what his words conveyed. She contemplated disobeying him on purpose just to see what he would do. She watched him hurry after Dillon. She shouldn’t have forced him into leaving her at the store, but she would rather explain why she was at the saloon after he calmed.
She really didn’t need anything, but spent several minutes looking around anyway, then walked straight to the hotel. She dropped her reticule on the bed and went to the washstand to freshen up. She decided instead on a bath. She longed to clean the saloon smell from her skin and hair. When she left her room to make her request, she heard noise from Max’s room. She knocked once and then entered the room.
“That didn’t take lo—”
Her breath caught in the back of her throat, cutting off her words. Max stood with his back to her, stripped to the waist. Muscles rippled as his hands stroked a straightedge up his cheek, then swished it in the basin of water. She saw his reflection in the mirror, brow furrowed as he scraped at his whiskers. His hand jerked the razor against his chin.
“Ouch!”
Abby hurried over, taking the towel draped on one bare shoulder and dabbing the spot of blood on his chin. Emotion swelled in her chest, for at that moment Max appeared totally vulnerable, a state she’d never seen before. He took a step back, pulling the towel from her hands and using it as a shield against his chest. She gazed into his clear blue eyes. She thought of him in all his disguises, knowing she loved the teasing banter of O’Flagherty and the gentlemanly charm of Markham. But she was in love with the real man—Maxwell Grant. He was tough, possessive and always telling her what to do, but she loved him anyway. Since he apparently wouldn’t tell her how he felt, she would have to do it first. She took a step forward.
He retreated a step.
“Abby?”
He said her name as though he wasn’t sure who she was.
She did feel like someone else—a bold new person ready to set sail on an exciting adventure.
“Max, I have decided to tell you how I feel.”
“Oh?”
Now she sensed curiosity in his voice.
“Max, will you make love to me?” She gasped, not intending to just blurt it out, and from the shocked look on Max’s face, she should have been more subtle. He turned away from her and grabbed his shirt from the bed. He shook it, dust flying everywhere, before shrugging into the blue cambric. Abby wondered briefly why he’d changed from his Reverend Fishbone disguise, but decided it was for the best. It would be hard to be so bold if he still wore the preacher’s disguise. She paced across the room, thinking it easier to speak freely if he wasn’t piercing her with that blue gaze of his.
“I know I keep saying I want independence and the right to create my book for independent women and…”
She almost said music, but that was still too private a subject, even for this discussion.
“But I think if we discuss it, we can find a workable compromise.”
“Compromise?”
There was laughter in his voice, and she turned to glare at him.
“Yes, why ever not? After all, I think I have proven myself quite capable on this adventure. And besides, I have thought seriously on our conversation about passion, and I believe you are right. If by passion, you mean the way you touch—”
He held up a hand. Something in his expression stopped her in mid-sentence.
“Abby, while I would love to continue this conversation, I just don’t think I’m the right man for you.”
He choked, momentarily covering his face with the towel.
“Max,” she murmured, slowly walking toward him, hips swaying. Her fingers went to the neckline of her dress, working the buttons through their loops. He swallowed and backed up farther. Always before, Max had been the aggressor, readily kissing her and taking her to the heights of pleasure. Now, when she was offering him everything, he didn’t seem inclined to take it.
“It’s more than just this adventure we’re on. I love you.”
She watched his eyes widen.
“I think I’ve loved you since the very first when you rescued me from that raging bull.”
Max bolted toward the door, slamming it as he left. Abby stood in the middle of the room, mortified. Had she only been an object of pleasure to wile away the time on the train? Would he touch any woman the way he touched her, making her shiver in ecstasy? Making her fall in love with him? Maybe she was stubborn, but she didn’t think Max was that cold-hearted. He probably wasn’t used to bold women telling him they loved him. She’d just have to make him see they were right for each other.
* * *
Monty crashed into a preacher on the stairs in his rush to leave Max’s hotel room. It took him a minute to recognize his brother. When he did, he started laughing so hard tears came to his eyes.
“Come on,” he said, grabbing Max’s arm and pulling him down the stairs.
“What the hell?”
Monty shook his head.
“Such language, coming from a preacher.”
“Where’s Abby? Is something wrong with her?”
Max sounded worried, and Monty was glad. Perhaps there was hope for his wayward brother after all.
“She’s fine, but we have to talk.”
As
they walked away from the Teller House, Monty thought over what Abby disclosed. He glanced sideways at his brother, older than him by just minutes, but in many ways too much older. Their father had always been harder on Max—demanding more and disciplining him harder. And whether either of them wanted to believe it or not, Max was exactly like their father. Not only was he hardheaded and set in his ways, but he demanded too much of himself. He thought he must always be perfect. Monty knew what Max would probably never admit.
Max worked extra hard, going on dangerous assignments with the government, all to gain their father’s approval. He had not yet comprehended that he didn’t need that approval. There were other things more important in life. Like the little lady upstairs. Predictable as always, Max hadn’t told Monty anything about his relationship with Abby. Monty decided to help the situation along, but then Max began talking about Dillon.
“He wired a bank in San Francisco for money,” he said.
“So I’m going to assume that’s where he lives. The money’s one thing, but if we don’t get some evidence about bogus mining ventures, or something that pertains to the merchandise in Father’s warehouse, we can’t pin the murder and robbery on him.”
“So how do we do that?” Monty was a businessman, always straightforward and honest. This venture cost him dearly, and he wished desperately to make it up to his father and to his wife, Sarah.
“Max, how is Sarah?”
Because of the circumstances, he hadn’t even telegraphed her.
“About time you asked,” Max growled.
“Did you even stop and think what it would do to her when you left without a word?”
“I couldn’t say anything. I needed to fix this, but I’ll make it up to her.”
“Damn straight you will. And soon. I’m sending you and Abby back to Denver to catch the first train east.”
Monty started to protest, but Max stopped him.
“We now know the name of Dillon’s bank. I’ve wired my government contacts to freeze his assets. That should make him mad enough to go to San Francisco to determine what’s going on. I intend to follow him.
“I want you checking the banks in Boston to see who transferred all that money and through how many transactions. Someone has to remember something, unless there was a partner in one of the banks. I want to know that, too. My assistant, Barnaby, should be able to help you.”
“Abby won’t go with me,” Monty stated flatly.
“She’ll do what I say.”
“No, she won’t.”
Max gave him one of his big-brother-I’m-the-boss looks, and Monty smiled. He sure would like to be around to see the fireworks. Max was caught and he didn’t even know it.
“Max, she thinks you need looking after. I think she’s right.”
“How the hell do you know what she thinks?”
“She came into your room while I was there, so we talked.”
Max pulled him to a stop, turning to face him. His eyes narrowed.
“You talked?”
Monty cursed himself for even mentioning it. For some strange reason, he wanted to keep Abby’s confidence. At the same time, he thought maybe his brother needed a prod in the backside to see what was right in front of him.
“What are your intentions toward the lady in question?”
Max looked surprised. Then he smiled. “Just who did Abby think she was talking to in my hotel room?”
* * *
Max stewed all the way back to the hotel. It had been difficult trying to talk to his brother about Abby. Max thought he loved her, but how did he know? Was it more than the lust he felt every time he looked at her? Monty refused to tell him exactly what Abby said, but he’d made it crystal clear that Max better not hurt her, or Monty would come after him. That was a switch, Max thought, as he climbed the stairs to the second floor. He tapped lightly on her door. When no one answered, he used the extra key to let himself in.
In that moment, he understood what love was. It was the heart-pounding, palms-sweating fear that something was amiss, and then the acute relief when he saw her lying on the bed asleep. It was the smile that automatically came to his lips and the deep aching need to hold her. He stood at the end of the bed and watched her sleep. She was so beautiful with her fiery red hair and freckles across the bridge of her nose. How did someone like him deserve an angel like her? He knew she cared for him, but did she love him? He didn’t dare ask, for it would crush him if she said no. She stirred, rolling over onto her back, murmuring his name in her sleep. He smiled, pleased that she dreamed of him.
* * *
When Abby woke, it was early evening. She’d slept the afternoon away, but given the late nights they often kept, she was tired more often than not. She dressed for the evening, putting on a black silk dress with a plunging neckline.
The puffed sleeves sat just at the curve of her shoulders, giving her the seductive look she needed. She didn’t have a lot of experience with men, but it seemed they were easily distracted when she dressed so. And it was necessary to keep Dillon distracted until he made a mistake. She wanted to come to Central City with Max, but she hated the game they’d begun. In playing poker with Dillon, she was also taking money from other men. She told herself that was not her fault since they played the game by choice, but she still felt guilty.
She re-read the note Max left. They had begun varying their routine so it didn’t appear as though they worked together. Tonight, Max would enter the game first, then she would join. She grabbed a shawl and her reticule, locking the door behind her. Dusk was slipping into night as she walked along the boardwalk, careful to stay in the shadows so she wouldn’t draw attention to herself. She stepped off the wood platform at the end of the hotel to cross the alley. She stubbed her toe, almost tripping.
She looked down. She clamped a hand to her mouth, stifling the scream that welled in her throat. Her heart pounded. She stared first at the shoeless foot, then at the tattered dress, ripped down the back to reveal a black corset. Abby swallowed hard, forcing herself not to be sick. She hurried around the body and knelt, gently turning the woman over. She kept her eyes averted until a lifeless arm flopped against her hip. Red lacquered nails contrasted sharply against the white fingers curved around a piece of paper. Abby slid the paper from between the woman’s lax fingers, hoping it would give a clue to who she was. She drew in a steadying breath. Only then did she allow her gaze to lift to the woman’s face. Lifeless eyes gazed unseeing into the night. Abby gasped.
It was Star, though her face was bruised and swollen almost beyond recognition. She began crying for the girl with no choices left to make. When she composed herself, she knew she had to get help. Carefully laying Star’s arm across her chest, she pulled her shawl from her shoulders and laid it over the girl. Gathering her skirts, she rushed from the alley and onto the boardwalk. She went to the sheriff’s office, but it was dark, the door locked.
Max would know what to do.
She shivered, rubbing her arms with her hands. It wasn’t the cool night air that made her blood run cold. Since he’d left the hotel before her, she assumed he was already hunting Dillon. She stumbled into the Silver Streak Saloon, stopping just inside the door and taking a few minutes to compose herself. There was a larger than usual crowd tonight, and she had trouble seeing over the heads to the poker tables that lined the far wall. Catching sight of Dillon, she surveyed the rest of the table, feeling sure that Max would be playing against him. She recognized him from the side. His diamond signet ring winked in the lamplight when he tossed coins into the pot.
More than once, a miner grabbed at her as she passed, but she wiggled free, never taking her eyes off Max’s back. She didn’t look at Dillon. She felt in her heart that he was responsible for Star’s death. If she looked him in the eye, he would no doubt read her thoughts. However, when she stopped at the table, Dillon drew her attention.
“You’re not playing this table tonight, lady. I think you cheat and I’m not about to lose a
ny more money to you.”
The white scar etched an angry gash across his flushed face. She started to accuse him of murder when she felt a tug on the side of her dress. She turned to see Max looking at her, a question in his eyes. The acute relief that surged through her caused her body to begin shaking, no doubt a reaction to shock. Her bottom lip began to tremble, and her eyes welled with tears. Max stood, taking her elbow and turning her away from the table.
“Gentlemen, if you will excuse me,” he said in his deep drawl. “I’m in a dire predicament here, for I completely forgot I promised to take this beautiful lady to dinner.”
He pocketed his winnings then grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair. Without saying a word, he escorted her from the saloon. By the time they gained the door, tears blocked her vision and the sobs she’d tried so hard to hold in racked her chest. Max pulled her into the nearest alley, away from prying eyes. He draped his coat around her shoulders. The warmth of the material and his scent enveloped her. She curled into him, sobbing, wetting his shirtfront.
“Abby, are you hurt?”
His hands roamed across her back then caressed her shoulders through the wool of his jacket. She shook her head.
“Sweetheart, what is it?”
His warm breath caressed her ear as he kissed her.
“Hold m-me,” she stammered, then hiccupped.
His arms came around her, pressing her against his chest. It felt so right to be here in his arms. He rocked her gently, whispering nonsensical words of comfort.
“I’ll make the world go away if that’s what you want. You and me, that’s all there would be.”
He kissed the top of her head.
“Just tell me what you want.”
She raised her head in silent request. Max complied.
Love in Disguise Page 24