River Bound: Bound and Tied, Book 3

by Jackson, Myla

  Dalton ducked lower, slipping behind an abandoned wine barrel. James clung to the shadows, motionless.

  Saulnier walked right by them, his face taut, his head down. The gentleman turned the opposite direction and disappeared out of sight.

  “I’ve got the other guy,” James said.

  “I’ll have a few words with Saulnier.” Dalton followed Pierre Saulnier out of the alley and onto the street.

  After they’d passed several buildings, Saulnier became aware someone was tailing him. Before Dalton could close the distance, the other man dodged into the gap between two hotels.

  Dalton raced after him.

  Too late, he realized his mistake when a fist connected to his chin, sending him flying up against a brick wall. Dazed, Dalton shook his head and ducked the next punch.

  His instincts kicked in and he sent a right hook to the other man’s gut, lifting him up off the ground with the force of the blow.

  The man grunted and doubled over, then charged head first into Dalton.

  Dalton crashed into the brick wall again, the breath knocked out of him, his only thought that of finishing this fight before the other man broke all of his bones. He twisted to the left at the next swing and shoved the man headfirst into the wall.

  Saulnier crumpled to his knees.

  Taking advantage of the man’s weakened condition, Dalton slammed him to the ground on his belly and jumped on top of him, pressing his arm into the back of the man’s neck. “Did you kill the soldiers that night a year ago?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the man gritted out, spitting dust from his mouth.

  “Tell the truth or die here.” Dalton leaned harder into Saulnier’s neck, squashing his face into the dirt.

  “That marshal should have killed you when he had a chance,” Saulnier said.

  “You planned that all along, didn’t you?”

  The downed man snorted. “I didn’t plan it. I just planted the gold in your room.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know. Ask the man who hired me.”

  “Who?” Dalton demanded. “Who hired you?”

  Saulnier grunted. “You’re so damned smart, you figure it out.”

  Dalton pressed harder until Saulnier’s eyes teared.

  “I tell you, I don’t know. He found me, he always does.”

  “Why set me up to take the fall?”

  “I don’t know.” The man’s body went limp. “But I didn’t kill the soldiers. I’d bet the gentleman who hired me did, or he hired someone else to do it.”

  “Why should I believe you?”

  “Why should I lie? He set you up. If you don’t take the fall, I will for putting the gold in your room. I didn’t know he’d killed those soldiers until I heard about the theft and murders the next day.”

  As much as Dalton wanted to blame Saulnier for killing the soldiers, the man’s words held a ring of truth. “Who were you talking to just a few minutes ago?”

  “The gentleman who hired me. He said if I didn’t meet with him and tell him what I knew about the gambler on the Marie-Dearie, he’d kill me, my wife and my daughter.” The man beneath Dalton sighed. “I didn’t kill the soldiers. I needed money and he offered it to me to slip the bag into your room. I’m guilty all right. Of being gullible.”

  Dalton continued to press the man into the ground for another moment, then he stood, pulling Saulnier to his feet.

  “You really don’t know his name?”

  Saulnier stood, rubbing the goose-egg-sized bump on his head. “I don’t remember. But he has to be from Memphis. That’s the only place I’ve met up with him. That’s all I know. God’s truth.”

  Last year the marshal had shown up with a lynch mob. Someone with a great deal of influence had to have tipped him off, pointing the finger at Dalton. The man had to be someone the marshal trusted.

  Dalton wondered if that man knew more than he’d shared with the marshal about the murdered soldiers. In order to find out who had identified him as the murderer, Dalton had to ask the marshal who had provided the information naming Dalton as the murderer. Not that he could walk up to the marshal and ask him. The marshal would shoot first and sort through the questions later.

  “When I catch this man, I’ll need you to testify that he hired you to plant the money.”

  With a nod, Saulnier straightened his jacket and bowtie. “Gladly. He’s caused me enough trouble.”

  “What did you tell the gentleman about me?”

  “That you were the same man we’d played cards with a year ago and that you were staying on the Marie-Dearie.”

  His eyes widening, Dalton asked, “The same man in that card game with the soldier?”

  The Frenchman nodded.

  Dalton’s pulse quickened. The killer he’d been searching for had to be Tyler King. “Anything else?”

  Saulnier hesitated. “I told him I’d seen you with the dark-haired woman staying on the boat.”

  Dalton’s blood ran cold. Rosalyn. If this man had gone to the trouble of murdering two soldiers just to set him up, what would he do to a lone woman associated with Dalton Black?

  He spun on his heels, calling out over his shoulder, “Don’t leave Memphis.” Then he was running as fast as he could toward the Marie-Dearie and the beautiful Rosalyn. He’d lost her once, he’d be damned if he lost her again. This time for good.

  Chapter Six

  Rosalyn had been all over the boat and seen no sign of Dalton or James. The steward in the gaming room had indicated Dalton had been playing cards earlier but had left abruptly. Where to, no one knew. She’d checked his room, but Dalton didn’t answer at her knock. Where had he gone? Why had he left the boat?

  Bigger question was why was she still on the boat? As the hour grew later, she’d begun to suspect he wasn’t coming back, and she’d been a fool to stay and wait for the man.

  She stood at the railing near the gangplank leading down off the Marie-Dearie, her gaze on the shoreline, hoping to see Dalton moving along the riverfront road.

  Several men appeared on the road, rushing across the dock, headed straight for the Marie-Dearie.

  Before they made it to the gangplank, Rosalyn could tell who the lead gentleman was—the marshal who’d come aboard a year ago, ready to string Dalton up on the nearest tree.

  Her pulse racing, Rosalyn turned and hurried down the stairs to the cabins below. She went straight to Dalton’s room and, using a hairpin, picked the lock and entered. A few minutes before she’d been angry that he wasn’t on the ship. Now she breathed a sigh of relief that he wasn’t in his cabin or anywhere else aboard. Were they back to arrest him? Had someone tipped them off that he was here under an assumed name? Would they discover additional evidence in his room to find him guilty?

  Rosalyn conducted a hasty search of Dalton’s cabin. Inside a trunk, nestled in a saddlebag, she found a heavy burlap bag. Letters painted on the side of the fabric indicated the United States Army. Her heart fell to her stomach as her fingers wrapped around the gold that had been stolen from the soldiers a year ago. The gold that had cost the soldiers their lives.

  Footsteps pounded on the floor above, shaking Rosalyn out of her stupor and spurring her into action. She tucked the bag of gold into the voluminous folds of her skirt, opened the cabin door and checked the hallway outside Dalton’s room. When it cleared of all patrons, she scurried to her room, the bag of gold weighing in her hands and in her heart. As she crossed the threshold into her cabin, the boat’s purser with his ring of keys, the marshal and his followers descended the stairs at the other end of the passage, guns drawn.

  Rosalyn closed her door softly in order to avoid drawing attention to herself. Her hands convulsed around the heavy bag of gold. Now that she had it, what could she do with it? A horrible thought occurred to her.

  What if the marshal conducted a complete search of the Marie-Dearie, including her room? They’d find the gold, accuse her of stealing it and that would be the end o
f her freedom. All for the misguided love of a gambler turned thief and murderer.

  As quickly as she could, she lifted her skirts, and with a length of ribbon, she tied the bag of gold around her waist, allowing it to ride low at her pelvis. The folds of her skirt would hide the bump, if she could keep from walking oddly or jostling the coins against each other.

  As she’d suspected, the marshal ended his search of Dalton’s room and barged into the rest of the rooms along the hallway.

  Rosalyn took the time to settle a large hat on her head, dipping the brim low over her eyes to cast a shadow on her face. If she kept her head down, the marshal might not recognize her as the same woman who’d been with Dalton a year ago.

  A knock on her door set her heart to racing.

  “Ma’am, open up,” the purser called out. “The marshal needs to speak with you.”

  Reminding herself to appear calm and curious like any other passenger, she opened the door. “May I help you?”

  The marshal looked past her into her room. “I’m looking for a passenger. Dillon Green.”

  Rosalyn swung away from the marshal, sure to keep her head down, her hat concealing the majority of her facial features. “You’ll see that I’m not hiding a man in my room, gentlemen.”

  “Mind if we search?”

  “Not at all.” She waved her hand, encouraging the marshal and his men inside. While they searched, Rosalyn stepped out into the hallway on the pretext of giving them room. Their closeness made her nervous. If they should bump against her, the ribbon precariously tied around her waist could break and the bag of gold would drop to the floor, spilling gold pieces. Now wouldn’t that be a fine kettle of fish? Explaining her way out of jail would be thorny, to say the least. The ridiculousness of the situation tugged at her funny bone and a smile curved her lips.

  It was just like Dalton to create a sense of chaos, even when he was nowhere to be seen.

  Movement on the stairway caught her attention. The devil in Rosalyn’s mind, Dalton Black, eased down the steps, his finger pressed to his lips.

  Rosalyn’s breath caught in her throat, and she jerked her head toward her room.

  Dalton tiptoed back up the stairs, disappearing.

  “We apologize for the inconvenience, Miss,” the marshal said as the men filed out of her room. “If you should see Dillon Green, please let the captain know to contact us.”

  “Why certainly. Marshal, what has the scoundrel done?”

  “His real name is Dalton Black. He’s wanted for murder and theft. He’s a dangerous man, ma’am.”

  “Oh my.” Rosalyn lifted her fingers to her lips, feigning fear. She knew how dangerous Dalton Black was, having lost her heart to him. The bag of gold bumped against her leg as a brutal reminder of how little Rosalyn really knew about Dalton Black. As soon as the marshal left the Marie-Dearie, she’d corner the gambler and get a few things straight.

  Dalton stole around the back of the Marie-Dearie. The marshal and his men didn’t stay below long. Soon they climbed up the stairs and split up, searching decks, the galley and the captain’s helm. The only place they didn’t look was the place Dalton chose to hide. He’d climbed onto the backside of the paddlewheel, grateful the boat wasn’t moving and that the paddles were completely dry.

  When all the deputies and the marshal gave up and left the ship, Dalton eased down from the paddlewheel and went below to the cabins. In his room, his breath caught in his throat when he spied the overturned trunk. He hurried forward and dug out the saddlebag where he’d hidden the bag of stolen gold.

  Dalton’s heart skidded to a stop. The bag wasn’t there. The marshal and his men had found the gold, proof enough for them that he was the murderer.

  “Looking for something?”

  Dalton jumped to his feet and spun toward the door.

  Rosalyn, wearing a black dress cut low over her bosoms, leaned against the doorframe, her dark brows winged upward, her blue eyes cutting directly into him.

  When he reached out to pull her into his room, she avoided his hand, drawing away. “I’m not staying.”

  Dalton frowned. “You’re right. It’s not safe in here with me. That marshal could come back anytime.” He grabbed her arm and led her down the hallway to her room, pushing her through the open doorway. Once inside, he closed the door and locked it.

  “The marshal was looking for you.” Rosalyn crossed her arms over her chest.

  “I’m afraid he might have found the bag of gold I had hidden in my room.”

  “The bag of gold stolen from the murdered soldiers?”

  “Yes, that’s the one.” Dalton gripped her shoulders. “Did the marshal take it?”

  Rosalyn stared into Dalton’s eyes for a long moment before she answered. “No.”

  “No?” Dalton gazed down at the beautiful woman in his arms, his fear dissolving, a smile sliding across his lips. “You have it, don’t you?”

  “If I did, why would I tell you?”

  “Because you’re the most wonderful woman in the entire world.” He hugged her, lifted her off her feet and spun her around the room. “Thank you.”

  When he set her on her feet, she stood stiff, her jaw tight. “Dalton, did you kill those men to steal the gold?”

  His smile faded. That she suspected him of murder cut him to the quick. “You think me capable of killing a man for a bag of gold?”

  “I don’t know what to think. When I found the bag of gold…” Her eyes filled and she turned away. She walked to the corner where she’d left her trunks and stood staring into their contents. “I didn’t know what to think.”

  Dalton had hoped she’d trust him, but then when had he given her much of a reason to place her faith in him?

  He walked up behind Rosalyn and laid his hands on her shoulders. She stiffened, the movement plunging a knife into Dalton’s heart.

  He sighed. “Where did you hide the gold?”

  Rosalyn ducked beneath his arm and moved a few feet away. “I have it on me.”

  Dalton’s lips twitched. “You hid an entire bag of gold on you with the marshal looking through your room?” He cupped her face. “You defy explanation.”

  “Not really. A woman’s skirts can hide a lot of sin.” She bent to gather her hem and lifted the ends of her skirt up to her waist. The bag of gold hung low over her pelvis, dangling between her pantaloon-covered legs.

  Dalton’s cock hardened. He reached out to untie the ribbon holding the bag of gold around her middle. He let the bag fall to the floor, one hand holding on to Rosalyn to keep her from darting away. “Have I told you today how amazing you are?” He cupped her ass, pulling her close, the thin muslin of the pantaloons a teasing barrier between them. If she wasn’t already suspicious of him, he’d rip off his clothing and drive deep inside her.

  The tiny dent in her brow worried him, slowing his desired raucous pace to one of gentle coaxing. This woman needed loving in a special way. A way that showed her that he knew her, what she liked, and most of all, that she could trust him.

  His fingers tugged at the bow holding her drawers up. The knot slipped loose and the material slid down her legs.

  Dalton bent to untie the ribbons around her ankles, easing the drawers over the tops of her boots and off. Kneeling in front of her, he stared up at her naked legs framed by the delicate crinoline and petticoat beneath her full black taffeta gown. Without the drawers, the tuft of dark hair over her pussy stood out against the white of her undergarments.

  His mouth dry, Dalton swept his tongue across his lips, imagining the taste of her sweet juices. He straightened, letting her skirts fall down around her, and turned her back to him. He pushed her hair aside and kissed the long slender line of her neck exposed by the low cut of her bodice. With deliberate and painfully slow movements, he loosened the ribbons of her bodice, drawing them through the eyelets one at a time.

  Rosalyn’s body swayed toward him, a moan rising in her chest.

  The bodice fell to the floor, revealin
g a black corset, trimmed in brown and ivory lace. He worked the laces at the back until the stays were loose enough the corset could be slipped over her head. The corset joined the bodice on the floor. He made quick work of the skirt, the petticoat and the crinoline, each dropping in a pool around her until she stood in nothing but a shear cream chemise, her thighs peeking from beneath the hem.

  Dalton turned her in his arms, his desire overwhelming the need to take it slowly to build her trust. His lips crashed down over hers, his hands gripping her arms, crushing her to his chest. He swept past her teeth to taste and twist his tongue around hers, slipping in and out in the age-old dance of lovers’ bodies joining in the most intimate way. Then he trailed kisses over her chin and down her neck to the rounded swells of her breasts.

  She fumbled with his jacket, pushing it over his shoulders. Her fingers worked the buttons loose on his shirt, sliding beneath the cotton fabric to touch his chest, searching for and finding his nipples.

  She tweaked the hard brown nubs, her hands slipping lower to his waist, freeing the fasteners of his trousers, liberating his cock.

  Dalton sucked in a breath as her fingers closed around his member, warm, soft, deft at coaxing him to hardened steel. He thrust into her palms, his cock eager to fill her.

  His shirt hit the floor, and he danced out of his boots. Finally naked, he grabbed the chemise Rosalyn still wore and ripped it up over her head. As they stood naked, surrounded by piles of clothes, Dalton marveled at how beautiful she was. Pale skin, dark hair, pale eyes and a waist so small he could fit his hands around it easily.

  And the woman liked making love hard, fast and rough. He swung her up in his arms and tossed her on the bed.

  Rosalyn squealed, her eyes alight, and scooted to the far corner of the bed. “You’re a scoundrel.”

  “And you love that about me.” He rounded the bed and made a grab for her.

  She eluded him, rolling over to the other side and off. She stood, her hands on her hips. “You’ve slowed down in the past year. Think yourself worthy of me?”

  “The lady has a point. Perhaps I need to prove myself once again and let the lady know exactly who is in charge.”