Between Love and Lies

by Jacqui Nelson

  * * *

  Leaning against the glass of her bedroom window, Sadie tried to rub the chill from her limbs while she kept her gaze on the two men standing across the street at Dodge’s jailhouse. She’d been watching the Star’s veranda, looking for Gertie, when the conversation between Noah and his friend claimed her attention.

  Mr. Adams adjusted a bedroll on the back of his saddle and then a saddle bag. He appeared to be packing for a long trip. Was Noah leaving as well?

  A shiver rocked her, and her gaze darted back to him. He stood with one shoulder resting against the jail’s porch post. The sturdy gray that he’d ridden out to the cemetery was nowhere in sight.

  She realized she was holding her breath and let it out.

  Distance and the wagons rattling down the rutted street made it impossible to hear their conversation, but the range of emotions—frustration, alarm, anger, disbelief—flitting across Noah’s face and frame fascinated her.

  Noah’s gaze followed his departing friend. Then he spun on his heel and strode off in the opposite direction.

  What had they discussed? And where was he now heading, so purposefully?

  The familiar creak and reverberation of the Star’s swinging half-doors jarred her from her thoughts. Pressing against the window again, she peered over the balcony to her right.

  The top of Gertie’s head appeared, followed by her narrow shoulders and broad backside. She stepped off the boardwalk, opened a copper-colored parasol that matched her hair and dress, and set off in the direction of the Great Western Hotel. The wind was at her back, propelling her forward like a ruffled sail of taffeta and lace in pursuit of lunchtime entertainment.

  She didn’t know how long Gertie would be gone. She did know her future hung on rare moments like these. Moments when she could continue her search with less chance of being caught.

  Edward’s most cherished possessions remained missing. He’d told her he’d faced financial ruin many times. Not once had he considered gambling his mother’s silver Faberge jewelry box or his father’s gold Cartier pocket watch. The watch never left his waistcoat pocket and the box always graced a shelf over the card table in his hotel room. Reminders, he’d said, that some things were too precious to risk losing.

  According to the townsfolk, Orin had most likely run off with both heirlooms.

  If Orin had them, Edward would’ve been content. Edward said they’d both enjoyed many partners of both sexes until they’d found each other, fell in love and became monogamous. He’d decided they needed to live with a woman to confuse the gossipmongers, especially when they returned to his home in Boston.

  Edward’s syphilis made it imperative that they go east to find better care for him. Before they could, another tragedy had struck.

  Sadie was convinced that Edward had interrupted Gertie’s thievery. The madam had killed him rather than face the consequences. Convincing anyone else would be impossible. Although she longed with all her soul to bring Gertie to justice, no one would believe her. The law wasn’t on her side. No one was.

  Edward was gone. The debt she owed him wasn’t. Because of him, she’d survived her first role as a prostitute untouched and a whole lot better prepared to deal with Gertie.

  She couldn’t afford to be distracted by Noah. She must find Edward’s treasures. Then she’d head for Chicago and disappear.

  She hastened across her room and out onto the second-story landing overlooking the main floor. She forced herself to saunter, so as not to draw any attention. Below her, only a pair of old timers slouched over the bar. Hardly daring to breathe, she halted by Gertie’s bedroom door and, keeping her back to it, glanced right then left. The landing remained empty.

  She laid her hand on the doorknob behind her. It didn’t budge. Steeling herself, she plucked two hairpins from her hair and bent the U-shaped metal straight.

  Her time with Edward had been enlightening in many ways. He hated being bored. Teaching her had become a form of entertainment. Her education had gone beyond dealing cards when Edward instructed Orin to take the reins. With night-black hair and eyes, Orin was breathtakingly beautiful in a boyish way, yet he had an edge to him. Once she’d dared to ask him about his life before he met Edward. She’d never asked again.

  She inserted the pins in the keyhole and applied every trick she’d been taught. Finally, the lock clicked. The door opened. She slipped inside and closed the door behind her.

  Slumped against the wood, she fought to slow her racing heart. Despite having new skills she wasn’t at ease with her new life. Each day she did things that would’ve seemed preposterous a year ago. Picking a lock so she could rifle through a person’s belongings were additions to an already lengthy list.

  Nerves stretched tight, she forced herself to push away from the door.

  Twenty minutes later, her nerves were close to snapping. She’d found nothing. Not in Gertie’s dresser drawers, not under her mattress, not even under her floorboards. Each tick of the grandfather clock in the corner chipped away at her courage. She feared the door would swing open at any moment.

  Hugging her arms around her waist, she stared at the one place she hadn’t searched. Gertie’s safe. The iron-gray box stood, solid and impenetrable, against the wall opposite the bed. Frustration churned inside her until she was tempted to kick the blasted thing. Opening a strongbox lay far beyond her knowledge. She couldn’t give up, though. There had to be another way to get inside.

  Merely a temporary defeat, she consoled herself as she went to the door and pressed her ear to it. Not a sound came from the other side. She eased open the door enough to peek through.

  The landing remained empty. Thank the Lord for small blessings.

  She stepped out into the hall, pulled the door closed and inserted her hairpins in the keyhole. Once again, the lock resisted before finally complying.

  Relief sweep over her as she shoved the pins into her skirt pocket. Exhaustion rapidly followed. She needed time to consider her next move. Intent on making a beeline for her room, she turned and ran straight into a wall of leather and muscle.

  Capable hands enveloped her arms, steadying her. A familiar face towered above her.

  “Whoa there.” Noah Ballantyne’s voice was low and soothing, as if he was calming a skittish mare. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

  Sadie gaped at him for a heartbeat, then pasted on what she hoped was a guilt-free expression. As far as Noah knew, she’d every right to be in the room she’d exited. He’d only been in town four days. Odds were he didn’t know the location of Gertie’s private domain.

  She didn’t like the look on his face, though. Not suspicious, but something equally as disconcerting. Something that hadn’t been there when they’d last met. He’d always appeared robust and capable. The exact opposite of how she felt. Now the man before her wore an air of determination, like he’d made up his mind and wouldn’t take no for an answer.

  The notion made her stomach knot for a different reason.

  When his hands dropped from her arms, she lowered her gaze, hoping to conceal her irrational disappointment. His faded shirt and rough-cut leather vest confirmed he still hadn’t bothered with the fancy clothing the majority of the newly arrived Texans purchased from the local mercantile. Her gaze caught on a silver star over his heart.

  He cleared his throat. “Marshal Masterson made me his deputy.”

  “Is that why you were standing in front of—” She pressed her lips tight, mortified that she almost revealed she’d been observing him. “I wasn’t aware that you knew the marshal.”

  “Met him last night after I carried you to your bedroom.” The words sounded wicked, especially with him standing so close.

  Her face grew hot. So did the rest of her. A delicious heat that coiled low in her body. She hadn’t felt warm since she’d lain under his coat this morning. She should return the garment. She wanted nothing to do with him.

  And still she couldn’t bring herself to say the words and give up his c
oat. Not when she’d previously been so cold. Since leaving her bed, she’d been harassed by the disturbing chill from last night. She’d been looking forward to returning to her room and snuggling under his coat’s comforting warmth.

  All intentions of going back to her sanctuary fled. What if he followed her? The prospect of being alone with him in her bedroom filled her with alarm but also made her body tingle in a very worrying way.

  Careful not to touch him, she slipped by and headed for the stairs and the saloon below. Noah matched her every step, staring at her as if he wanted to say something of grave importance.

  The sun flooded through the ground floor windows, filling the saloon with light and warmth, making her burn even hotter. No additional patrons had entered the Star, and for once, she missed the crowd. The quiet made her exceedingly aware of the man beside her.

  When he removed his hat and held it in front of him, she drifted to a halt beside the piano with her fingertips trailing across the smooth mahogany surface. Her memories of Edward playing it were swept aside by a new musing. The wood’s hue reminded her of Noah’s hair. The sunlight picked up the auburn highlights running through the thick waves. Her fingers itched to explore them instead.

  She folded her arms and pressed her elbows against her sides, pinning down her traitorous hands.

  “I hope you feel better today.” His softly spoken words flowed over her like a caress.

  “I’m as well as can be expected. Thank you for inquiring, Mr. Ballantyne.” Aware that she owed him for a lot more, she forced herself to continue speaking. “And thank you for coming to my aid last night.”

  “Glad I could help.” His mouth lifted at the corners, the first time she’d witnessed him smile. The most sincere and long-awaited smile she’d ever won. It pulled at something deep inside her. Something wonderful…and dangerous.

  “Will you sit a spell with me, Sadie?” The rumble of his voice grew even deeper, reminding her of the way he’d spoken to her a year ago, when his cattle had destroyed everything she held dear.

  You know you can’t trust him, she reminded herself. So stop being foolish.

  Erecting a wall around her heart, she turned away from the piano and Noah, angling for the bar and the two old-timers. “I should see if I’m needed—”

  He jumped to block her path. “I want to discuss your farm.”

  The heat she’d felt since bumping into him on the landing drained away. “Don’t be cruel. Nothing more can be said.”

  “I disagree. And I’ll be coming back every hour until you hear me out.”

  She sank onto the nearest chair and clenched her hands in her lap to stop them from trembling.

  Noah pulled up a seat and sat facing her. “I need to talk to you about the day we met.” She shook her head, but he didn’t stop. “After I left, I went over what happened, every single day, and wished it could’ve been different. That’s why I came back.”

  She felt her eyes grow round. “I don’t believe you.”

  “I don’t blame you. But it’s true. When we met, I was at the lowest point in my life. One I haven’t recovered from.” His grip on his hat tightened. “My herd had been days without water. Then came a rainless thunderstorm. The cattle stampeded and trampled several of my men.”

  A cold apprehension made her gasp. “Did they survive?”

  “All except my brother, Jacob.”

  Her heart ached for his loss. She didn’t know the joy of having a brother or sister, but she could imagine the torture of seeing one die in front of you.

  The lines of his face twisted with sorrow and guilt. “I should’ve kept Jacob safe. I failed him. Then I met you and—” he swallowed roughly, “—failed you, too. I’m sorry I made you lose your farm. If I had known the damage that cattle drive would cause, I’d have never come north.”

  That he was tortured by this much remorse astounded her. She’d never viewed him as anything but strong and self-assured. Wanting to remove the sadness from his eyes made her forget her own troubles.

  “I’m sorry your brother died.” The urge to comfort him made her lean toward him. “From what you’ve told me, I don’t see how you failed him. You shouldn’t hold yourself responsible for his fate.”

  His brow lowered along with his gaze until he was staring at her hand clutching his arm. When had she—?

  She jerked back, then tried to cover her embarrassment by clearing her suddenly dry throat. “As for me and my farm…it doesn’t matter anymore.”

  “It does to me.” His voice sounded raw, wounded.

  “Go home, Mr. Ballantyne,” she whispered, dismayed to hear her voice crack.

  “Not until you’re safe.”

  “Mr. Ballantyne—”

  He gestured to the walls around them. “I’m not leaving you in this godforsaken place.”

  She raised her chin. She couldn’t risk relinquishing what little control she had to anyone, including him. “You have no say in where I go or where I stay.”

  The furrows on his brow deepened, but his tone remained even. “I’m going to help you.”

  “Your help in this particular matter isn’t welcome.” She considered him through narrowed eyes. “Last time you gave my father money and left me with nothing. You departed without a backward glance.”

  He nodded. “I wish I’d stayed.”

  “Yes, you should’ve stayed in Texas.”

  “Stubborn little hellcat,” he muttered.

  She drew back with indignation. “Pig-headed oaf.”

  The lines etching his brow relaxed and the corners of his mouth twitched. “Call me Noah.”

  Unfortunately, the back of her chair prevented her from leaning even farther away from him. “You also have no say in what I call you, Mr. Ballantyne.”

  “What if you had your land back?”

  The abrupt return to their original topic took her off guard. She shook her head, trying to dispel the sudden sting of tears in her eyes. “I’ll never see my farm again.”

  “I bought it.”

  “What?” Her voice was no more than a squeak.

  He drew a bag from each of his vest pockets and emptied their contents on the table, scattering a stream of one dollar poker chips. “How many acres was your farm?” He pulled his chair closer and his knee brushed hers.

  The all-too-brief contact brought the warmth back to her cheeks. Twisting on her seat, she stared out the window and huffed out a breath, trying to cover her discomposure. “If you’d bought my farm, you wouldn’t have to ask its size.”

  From his pocket came a crisp white piece of paper, which he unfolded and placed next to the chips. The deed to her farm, bearing his name.

  Her blood roared in her ears. “Well, since you apparently do own it, you already know how many acres you bought.”

  “Indulge me,” he insisted, pulling his chair even closer until she sat between his splayed knees, within the solid, unyielding curve of his body.

  In an effort not to touch him, she tucked her feet under her chair, then scolded herself against any further retreat. A soiled dove wouldn’t care how close a man sat, especially not one as eye-catching as the man before her.

  She struggled to remember his question. How large had her farm been? She blinked, bewildered by his persistence and uncertain of such a conversation’s purpose. The shadows where the sun didn’t penetrate were no less dark, but with him sitting so close they somehow seemed less worrisome.

  “My farm had one hundred acres.”

  Noah scooped up the poker chips and stacked them. She counted ten stacks of ten chips.

  “I’ll give you one acre for every request you grant me,” he said.

  She felt her jaw drop in disbelief, while the rest of her snapped to attention. The desire to have her farm back was deep-rooted but illogical. She couldn’t live there without a new house and, even if she accomplished that, she had no idea how she’d keep it from being demolished by the never-ending herds of cattle. The dream of recovering all she’d los
t faded, leaving her to focus on Noah’s proposal.

  “You mentioned requests? What kind? What if I find them…distasteful?” Warmth flooded her face.

  “Then you should tell me.”

  She snorted. “And?”

  “We find something you’re comfortable saying yes to.”

  “Humph.” She drummed her fingers on the table, trying to distract herself from the urge to touch the chips. “Might I remind you of my condition? I can offer you nothing.”

  “There’s plenty. I want your company and for you to drop this act, to be yourself when we’re together.”

  Her hand froze and she forced her lips to form a smile. “What makes you think there’s anything more to me than what you see before you?”

  His amber eyes inspected every inch of her. She refused to turn away.

  “Half the time I wonder if you want to hit me like you did a year ago. Instead, you do something unexpected like smiling. Don’t get me wrong, it’s a lovely smile, but a false one. I’d rather have the real thing.”

  “You are grossly mistaken, Mr. Ballantyne,” she replied, keeping her counterfeit smile firmly in place.

  “Call me Noah.”

  She arched an eyebrow at him.

  He picked up two poker chips and held them out to her. “Call me Noah, and you’ll have your first acre back. Join me for a picnic this afternoon, and you’ll have your second.”

  CHAPTER 7

  Noah guided the rented buckboard north, away from Dodge and all its noise. Soon the peace of the open prairie cocooned him, emphasizing the silence of the woman seated by his side.

  He’d suggested this picnic in the hope that some distance from town might persuade her to see the future differently. The land here was pristine in contrast to the trampled crops and churned up earth south of Dodge. The longhorns never reached these northern plains. Their march ended when they entered the town and its rail station.

  His dislike for Dodge had grown. Take away the cattle drives and the town would wither, might even fold up and disappear. Out here, he was reminded of Texas. A stalwart cottonwood grew in a gully, surrounded by miles of bright-green spring grass.