“It’s now obvious that the Martins know at least part of your plan,” Tyrone said.
Deidre winced and fought to keep her fears tightly caged. “It would seem so. I can only pray that they don’t know about Maura. Not that many in Saint Louis did. We lived just outside the city and only our neighbors knew my cousin had come to live with us. If the Martins’ henchmen asked around about the Kenneys, not many would have mentioned Maura, and certainly not thought her one who would take on Da’s work. Maura is very shy and sweet and rarely left home.”
“If they know you left, they know she left as well.”
“Perhaps, but there is nothing that can be done about it.”
“There is no way you can reach her? Send a telegram, perhaps?”
“Not really. We decided that was for the best. After all, it might easily help our enemies find us.”
He cursed softly, then shrugged an apology when she raised her brows slightly. She was right. In fact, she used the same reasoning he and Mitchell had when they had decided not to contact each other until one or both of them reached Saint Louis. The only way to possibly reach each other as they traveled was by telegraph. Those offices were easily watched and messages easily intercepted. Even without such help, the Martins’ thugs were finding their victims easily enough. There was no sense in clearly pointing the way for them.
“How is your cousin getting to Paradise?” he asked.
“She will be riding the train for as long as it is safely possible,” Deidre replied, seeing how annoyed he was, and idly wondering which aspect of this miserable tangle they were in irritated him the most.
“That is the way my brother is traveling.”
“The chances of your brother and my cousin meeting are very small.”
“As small as they were for us to meet?”
“Point taken.” She returned his brief smile and then sighed. “They will both be trying to elude the same enemies. That could easily bring them together at some point, I suppose. Does your brother carry some proof of who he is? Maura is not as trusting as I am.” She ignored his grin.
“Yes, he has similar papers to what I have. You do realize that the train route is the first one the Martins will check.”
Deidre nodded. “They still have to find which train and which woman. Trains, the stations along the way, even the hotels the passengers might stop in, are a lot more crowded than anywhere along the route I am taking. I felt the crowds would offer Maura some protection. Maura is the sort people feel compelled to shelter and protect. Going by train gave her a better chance of gathering such well-meaning people around her. It’s also the fastest route, putting her in reach of the enemy for the least amount of time. At least that is what I told myself after she won, or lost, if you prefer, the toss. We are to meet in Paradise.”
It was clear that Deidre thought herself stronger and better able to protect herself than her cousin Maura. Tyrone wondered just what sort of young woman was riding the train to Paradise, expecting to elude the murderous Martins, and then deliver her packet of papers. The whole thing was ludicrous, yet he knew there was no stopping it. The best he could hope for was averting tragedy. He did not want his future prosperity bought by the blood of two young women. He was sure his brothers would agree.
“We will travel to Paradise together,” he said.
Even though the man’s expression and his tone of voice indicated that he would heed no argument, Deidre felt herself compelled to make one. Pure contrariness, she supposed. “We will, will we? I don’t believe I invited you along.”
Tyrone leaned forward in his chair, resting his arms on his legs and clasping his hands. “You didn’t, but, to be blunt, you’d be a fool not to.” The sudden spark that entered her fine green eyes told him that he was not endearing himself, but now was not the time to cater to offended sensibilities. “The Martins have tracked you down. They’ll be nipping at your heels all the way to Paradise. You need someone to watch your back. Today proved that.”
“Traveling with a single gentleman for days on end could seriously inhibit the smooth return to my life in Saint Louis.”
“So could a bullet in the heart.”
“Quite. Fine then, we shall travel together. We can watch each other’s back.”
“Good. I will send word to the lawyer Mitchell and I were going to meet in Saint Louis. Even if the Martins catch wind of it, it won’t make much difference. They already know we are here and it won’t take them long to figure out we’ll be together from now on. Now, if you’ll just give me the papers.”
“And have you slip away and leave me behind? I think not.”
It took almost an hour to get Tyrone to leave. He badgered her for the papers until they were both so angry it was impossible even to be vaguely courteous. As Deidre shut and locked the door after him, she breathed a sigh of relief even though she knew he had not given up. She did, however, look forward to some rest before having to go another round with the man. His stubborn refusal to concede had given her a headache. She smiled faintly as she prepared for bed. The man was obviously as hardheaded and stubborn as she was.
Once washed and dressed in her voluminous nightgown, she took a headache powder and crawled into bed. The events in the dining room had shaken her. Despite her arguments, she knew she would be glad to finish the treacherous journey with a strong man at her side. Tyrone was right. The Martins had tracked her down and would dog her heels every step of the way now. They wanted her dead, and the papers she carried destroyed. Deidre realized that, despite the murder of Bill and her father, she had not truly accepted the danger she was in until she had stared down the barrel of that gun in the dining hall. Her womanhood was obviously no protection at all and she wondered if she had truly been fool enough to think it would be.
Closing her eyes and forcing herself to relax, she reached out a little desperately for the peace of sleep. Not only would it give her some rest from the hard knot of fear in her belly, but she needed to keep up her strength for the days ahead. The race to Paradise was well and truly begun now. Not only were the Martins a threat, but instinct told her Tyrone Callahan could be one as well, at least to her peace of mind. That dark-eyed Irishman had stirred her interest in a way no man ever had, and she had just agreed to spend days, weeks perhaps, in close proximity with him. She murmured a curse as sleep started to tug her into its comforting hold. Maybe she was a fool.
Chapter Three
A DIRTY, CALLUSED HAND pressed tightly over her mouth yanked Deidre out of her pleasant, mildly sensual dream concerning a tall, dark-eyed man. She stared at the two men flanking her bed and screamed, even though she knew it to be a useless waste of breath. Her mind clearing of the last vestiges of sleep, Deidre sank her teeth into the rank hand that was nearly smothering her.
The bellowed curse of pain coming from her captor as he released his tight grip on her mouth was sweet music to her ears. She wasted no time in savoring her triumph, however, but lunged off the bed even as the men tried to grab her. It was Pete and Jim again, she realized as she raced for the door. It had been a mistake to think that she had fooled them or that they had given up. The Martins were undoubtedly offering the sort of reward that prompted such persistence.
Just as she started to open the door, Jim got near enough to slam his bleeding hand against it and close it. She ducked his grasp, punching him in the belly before she darted out of his reach. The bathroom was the only other place to go and she ran for it, tossing anything she could grab into the path of the two men stumbling after her and all the while screaming for help at the top of her lungs.
“Dammit, Pete, she’s going to bring the whole town up here,” snapped Jim.
“We still got a minute to grab her. They’ll come to the door. Search her things.”
Deidre cursed when she reached the bathroom, slammed the door, and locked it. It did not look strong enough to hold back two determined men. And it meant that she could do nothing to stop Jim from searching through her things. Th
e papers were well secured in a hidden packet of the dress she had worn to dinner. It should not be easy to find, but there was always the chance that Jim would get lucky. When the door shuddered beneath Pete’s assault, she pressed herself against it, looked around for something she could use as a weapon, and prayed someone had heard her cries.
* * *
Tyrone cursed as he struggled into his pants. It was startling enough to be rudely jerked awake by a woman’s screams. Instinct told him who was doing the screaming and that only enhanced his sense of urgency. Deidre obviously had not stayed safe for long, he thought as he yanked on his boots, grabbed his gun, and hurried out of his room.
The manager and two burly men arrived at Deidre’s door at the same time he did. Tyrone looked at the thin, pale manager fumbling with the keys and snapped, “Hurry up! You’re giving them enough time to kill her and make a clean escape.”
“Do you know this woman?” The manager finally got the right key in the lock.
“Yes, she is my fiancée,” Tyrone lied, his gut clenching with fear when he realized that Deidre was no longer screaming for help. “Met her here to take her back to Montana for the wedding.”
“I hope your journey back home begins tomorrow.”
It did not take a genius to know that he and Deidre had just been asked to leave town. Tyrone could not see how the manager could possibly think this was all Deidre’s fault, but, as the door opened, he knew it was not time to argue. He pushed by the others, entering the room in time to see a man climbing out the window. Tyrone let the hotel guards go after him, knowing there was little chance of capturing the intruder, and looked around for Deidre. When he did not see her, he briefly panicked, thinking the intruder might have taken her with him.
“Is the girl with him?” he demanded, striding toward the window.
“Nope,” answered the guard who had stayed inside while his partner had scrambled out on the roof of the front porch. “Two men. No girl.”
“Deidre!” Tyrone yelled, looking around the room again, then striding toward the door that led to the bath.
“That you, Tyrone?” Deidre called back from behind the door.
“Yes. Open the damned door.”
Relief washed over Deidre with such force she felt light-headed. Fighting the urge to sink to the floor and stay there until she could stop shaking, she struggled to unlock the door, her hands trembling so badly it took several tries. Finally, she got the door open, took one look at a fiercely scowling Tyrone, and flung herself into his arms. Guns with dinner and men trying to steal her from her bed was more adventure than she could tolerate with any semblance of calm. She had only just met Tyrone Callahan, but, even furious and half dressed, he looked like a pillar of strength and safety at the moment.
Tyrone stuck his pistol on the table near the door and wrapped his arms around Deidre. He had been startled when she had flung herself against him, but he was more than willing to offer some comfort. Turning slightly, he looked at the other men as he rubbed his hands up and down Deidre’s slim back in an effort to still her trembles. He struggled to ignore the fact that, even in a nightgown he was sure could be wrapped around her twice, she was an enticing little bundle to hold on to.
“Did you catch them?” he asked, even though he saw the second guard climbing back in through the window empty-handed and breathless.
“No,” replied the returning guard as he brushed himself off. “They got down into the side alley where they had horses waiting. It didn’t look as if they had anything, certainly nothing that couldn’t just be slipped into a pocket.”
“Do you think it’s worth calling in the sheriff? Did you recognize either man?”
“Nope,” the man answered. “Both strangers.”
“Unless you wish it, sir,” said the hotel manager, “I see no need to disturb the sheriff. It could prove most embarrassing for your fiancée.”
“Your what?” Deidre squawked, the manager’s words shoving aside all of her upset, but her words were muffled because Tyrone put one big hand on the back of her head and shoved her face against his broad, smooth chest.
As Tyrone politely agreed that there was no need for the law to become involved, Deidre lost interest in the discussion. Her attention, indeed all of her senses, became fixed upon the chest she was so tightly pressed against. It was a distractingly handsome chest, muscular yet not too ridged and swollen by strength. He smelled nice, too, a mixture of a subtle, spicy cologne and something else. Eau de Tyrone, she mused, then wondered if being held so close to so much warm, male flesh had affected her mind. She struggled to listen to what was being said and not give in to the shocking urge to kiss that lovely chest, maybe even give it a quick little taste with her tongue. Then something the manager said as he was leaving fully caught her attention.
“It may have helped, sir,” the manager said in a cool, polite, but chiding voice, “if you had made your relationship to this woman clear from the beginning. These sort of difficulties do not arise unless it is thought that the woman is alone, unprotected. Women today seem unaware of the troubles they cause with their unnatural bids for independence. In truth, I almost refused her a room when I thought she was traveling alone.”
“You pompous . . . Mmph.” Deidre glared at Tyrone over the hand he had clamped over her mouth.
Deidre considered biting Tyrone as she had one of her attackers, then contented herself with muttering her rather foul opinion of the hotel clerk under the muffling security of Tyrone’s palm. Tyrone loosened the pressure of his hand, but did not remove it until the door closed behind the manager and the two guards. He then cautiously removed his hand and watched her as she strode over to the brandy decanter and poured herself a drink.
“I cannot believe that weasel thought that this was all my fault,” she said after a bracing sip of her brandy.
Tyrone moved to pour himself a drink, then sprawled in the chair he had occupied earlier. “I will concede that it is grossly unfair, but this was not the time to try and enlighten the fool.”
“Actually, I was not considering giving him a bracing lecture. I was going to punch him in his long, pointy little nose.”
He laughed softly. “And that would have gotten us tossed out tonight instead of tomorrow morning.”
“He has asked us to leave?” Deidre sank down into the chair facing him, not sure if she was more shocked or annoyed. If it ever got back to Saint Louis that she had been kicked out of a hotel, she would be utterly mortified.
“Yes. It doesn’t really matter if he thinks it’s our fault there was trouble or if we could ever convince him otherwise. The trouble came with us. He wants it gone.”
“And, sad to say, it will indeed follow us when we leave. That little, pompous weasel will think himself all correct and justified in his nauseating attitudes.”
Deidre looked at Tyrone and suddenly realized how scandalously they were behaving. He wore no shirt and she wore only her nightgown, modest though it was. Even her hair was loose. She told herself there had been no choice. In the midst of an attack she had had no time to don her dress and do her hair, and she was very glad that Tyrone had not been too concerned with propriety to rush to her aid. Deidre used those sensible thoughts to force aside the blush that was threatening to burn her cheeks.
“Why did the hotel manager think I was your fiancée?” she asked.
“Because I told him you were,” Tyrone replied calmly, but watched her closely as he sipped his drink.
“Why would you tell that puffed-up little worm such a tale?”
“I was not sure he would let me inside the room to help you. A few things he said when I first arrived told me he was a stickler for the proprieties.” Tyrone smiled briefly. “I think he might have insisted I return to my room, dress appropriately, and shave before he formally announced me.”
She giggled and shook her head. “One has to wonder where he and his outrage were when those two men accosted me in the dining room and stuck a gun in my face.”
“Safely behind his desk, I suspect. It was the same two men?”
“Oh, yes. I obviously did not fool them at all with my schoolgirl French.”
“If I recall a few of those phrases correctly, I must take leave to doubt that any schoolgirl would know them.”
This time she did blush, but only faintly. “Riverboat French then, the tutor being Bill Johnson. Well, I thank you for rushing to my rescue yet again, Mister Callahan, but I believe I will seek my rest now. I suspect I will not be allowed a leisurely breakfast and departure in the morning.”
“Fine. Your room or mine.”
“Excuse me?”
“Do you want to stay here or will you come and stay in my room?”
Although instinct told Deidre that he was not proposing some sordid liaison, she was still outraged by the suggestion. “You will trot off to your room like a good boy and I will stay right here.”
Tyrone set his glass down and stood up. He leaned toward her, placing a hand on each arm of the chair, and effectively caging her there. Her eyes widened slightly, but he was pleased to see only wariness and not fear. Even though she refused to give him the papers, she obviously trusted him to some extent. Although, he mused as he studied her with her glorious hair rippling over her slim shoulders in thick waves all the way to her gently curved hips, she might be wise to fear him just a little bit. Despite her extremely virginal nightgown, the sight and scent of her, the proximity of her full lips, had his body hardening with keen interest.
A Stockingful of Joy Page 3