“I don’t want to go to the playhouse,” she said, her mouth suddenly filled with a bad taste at the memory of what had happened there the night before.
“Then we won’t, milady,” he said agreeably. They changed direction and walked for several minutes in silence.
“You’re looking spry today.”
“I’m feeling better. Fortunately, the arrow went in my shoulder muscle, not one of my legs, or I wouldn’t be walking.”
“I hate Tía!”
Grant guessed this dark passion had something to do with the dancing he’d heard last night. Everyone who wasn’t half-dead would have been out there. Men who couldn’t walk off a horse still thought they could dance, himself included, but he’d been so sleepy it had felt good to just lie in his bunk and listen to the music until he’d fallen asleep. He’d moved back to the bunkhouse because of Morgan’s arrival. “Did Tía dance with Johnny?”
“Every dance. You know what she told me this morning? That little maggot is Teresa Garcia-Lorca.”
Grant stopped and checked to see if Judy was joking. “Tía is Teresa?”
“That little maggot lied to me from the day I met her.”
“Why?”
Judy pressed her lips together. “How should I know?”
“Then who’s Andrea?”
“Her sister.”
That puzzled him. The two girls did not look like sisters. He would have to take a better look at them next time he saw them together.
“I hate men!” Judy said suddenly. “All men!” Grant’s mind was still grinding on the problem of Tía, but Judy seemed to have forgotten her already. Her face darkened like a storm cloud.
“Hey, I thought with all that dancing last night, you’d be in seventh heaven.”
“Because of Johnny and Morgan? Those worthless varmints! I hate both of them. I hate everybody!” Stopping, Judy stamped her foot, and great round tears spilled out of her stormy eyes. Her downturning lips trembled with exquisite wretchedness.
A knife twisted inside him. Grant had always been blithely indifferent to feminine wiles. Until he’d met Judy Burkhart, he’d had some shield that kept him from feeling emotions or responding deeply when he did, but now he writhed.
“Hey, sweet lady, nothing could be that bad,” he said, his voice raspy with emotion and the effort to sound casual.
Sobbing, Judy swayed. Grant stifled a wave of sheer anguish and gathered her into his arms. As Judy cried, he held her—a slender, quivering wand of feverish intensity. He wanted to hold her forever. A thought that ambitious reminded him how unlikely the prospect was, and he prayed instead for the strength to play his role—the role she had outlined long ago in her sweet voice with matter-of-face precision. You will be my special friend. I like you better than anyone I know. If I ever need anything, I will come to you. If you ever need anything, you will come to me, but you can’t be my beau. Sooner or later I hate all my beaux. Friendship can’t mix with love, so you can choose. I want you for my special friend, but if you’d rather…
Since that day he had watched other men buzz around her, accepting whatever crumb she tossed them until she lost interest and flitted to the next flower, like a butterfly. He did not fool himself. There was nothing magic about him that would attract and keep a girl with Judy’s passionate nature. He could have one or the other, so he had chosen the role calculated to keep him near her for the longest period of time, even though he desperately longed for even a brief immersion in the blinding rapture he knew she could give him. He had been sorely tempted to gamble. If he’d been blessed with even a dab of blind egotism, he would have tried it, but he saw himself too clearly—a plain-faced runt who would never be anything to her except a range bum. He loved her far, far too desperately to risk losing that shimmering gift of intimate friendship—to exchange it for a few moments of passion, then have it withdrawn with casual disregard when she fluttered off to tantalize the next man who caught her fancy.
Now, unnerved by Judy’s unaccustomed desolation and the sheer wonder of holding this proud young beauty in his arms, Grant floundered in a rough and wicked sea. Holding her close, wallowing in self-pity, wonder, and finally resignation, he felt his strength return at last. He lifted her chin and wiped gently at her tears.
“Feel better?” His throat was painfully tight.
“No,” she sniffed, her lips trembling.
“Sure you do. A cloud that dumps that much rain has got to feel better.”
“No I don’t!” she said sulkily, but before he could reply, her face trembled into a slow, shaky smile.
“Liar!” he teased, smoothing soft brown curls from her damp face. He still felt dazed, strangely light-headed. Her lips should be damp from his kisses, not her tears, but he had never once tasted that expressive, sensual mouth.
A slow smile lifted that exquisite pout, and she sniffed loftily. “I am not!”
He was unable to stop himself. “I love you, Judy.”
She stared back at him with eyes that were infinitely sad. “Sure you do.”
“I mean it.”
“And you will keep meaning it, until I do something you don’t like.” Judy smiled, knowing without question that his love, like the love of others on whom she had depended, was tied with a lot of strings.
“No,” Grant said, his fine gray eyes solemn. “I love you no matter what you do, no matter what you’ve done.”
He looked so earnest, but she couldn’t believe him. He believed what he was saying, but that was only because his limits hadn’t been tested. The same destructive impatience that caused her to throw away a chipped dish before it could break was driving her now. She began to laugh recklessly.
“Try me before you condemn me,” he said fiercely.
Then she stopped laughing as abruptly as she had started. “All right,” she said, gauging his reaction. “Suppose I told you that I let Morgan Todd make love to me last night.”
Grant knew that these words meant to hurt him were really aimed at herself, but he didn’t know how to respond without making her think it mattered to him. Part of him had always known Judy was likely not a virgin, because it wasn’t in her to hold anything back. She was intense and giving and lived by impulse in everything she did.
“It doesn’t matter,” he said.
“Suppose I told you I let him treat me like a whore, and it wasn’t the first time, and that I liked it?”
It confused Grant to know that Judy thought it was her fault if a man treated her badly.
Hurt crept into his eyes and caused an ache to start in Judy. He had beautiful eyes. Why hadn’t she noticed that before? They were clear and gray and filled with light.
“It doesn’t matter,” he said.
“You’re just saying that because you can’t stand to lose face after shooting off your mouth.” Inside Judy pleaded with herself to stop.
“I love you no matter what,” he said stoutly.
“Okay,” she said, looking as though she had come to some momentous decision. “Do you know why Morgan Todd isn’t speaking to me today?”
“Because he left before you got up,” Grant quipped.
“Wrong. Because the second time last night, the time he undressed me and kissed me all over and…” Judy paused, staring at him like a defiant child, waiting for the strength to continue.
Tía was the only woman she had ever loved, and Tía’s betrayal had left her feeling raw and exposed. Part of her wanted to tear at herself, to rend herself in some horrible way that would make them all sorry. Grant was waiting for her to continue, but she could not.
“Go ahead,” he whispered.
“I guess you wouldn’t know what a stud Morgan is, would you?” Judy forced a derisive laugh. “No, you wouldn’t know that, but you can take my word for it. He would put one of Steve’s Arabians to shame,” she said admiringly. “Well, here’s Morgan Todd making love to me, kissing me like he can’t get enough of me, and you know what I did?”
“No what?”
Judy rolled her eyes. “I did the unforgivable. I called him Johnny. Can you imagine?”
“What did he do?”
“What would you do? He knocked me silly,” she said as if that were the least he could have done.
“He hit you?”
“I’ll say,” she said, rubbing her cheek where the memory of his blow tingled.
Rage bubbled inside Grant. For the first time in his life, he saw red.
“That’ll teach me to keep better track of who I’m with,” Judy said savagely. “Some men are such nitpickers!”
Grant reached up to push his hair back from his face. “Yeah,” he whispered, his hand trembling.
“Well, Grant, I gotta go back now,” she said brightly.
Unable to move, he watched her walk away. A red haze distorted his vision.
Judy walked all the way to the house to be sure she was out of Grant’s sight. Once inside her room, she collapsed across the bed. Holding her stomach, she pressed her face into her pillow and sobbed uncontrollably.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
The trip to Tombstone was long, hot, and dusty, but undisturbed by Indians. They reached the town sprawling over the squat, ugly Tombstone Hills just after the noon hour.
Morgan Todd had barely talked at all during the long ride. Now he rode up beside Steve.
“I’m going to stop at Sadie’s.”
“That ought to put you in a better mood.” Steve grinned.
Morgan looked away. “Care to join me?”
Steve shook his head. “No, I’ll make the arrangements we talked about. We’ll be ready to go before nightfall if all goes well. If we leave at five in the morning we should be in pretty good shape.”
“Fine,” Morgan answered, turning his horse, distracted.
A warm smile lighting her heavy face, Sadie opened the door herself. A tall brunette with hair dyed flaming red, she was no beauty, but she was buxom, jovial, and an expert at relieving all kinds of tensions. The gaudily decorated parlor was empty. A cat slept atop the piano. The women who usually adorned the room slept upstairs.
“Morgan, honey! Come in! Come in! Let me fix you a drink. I missed you last night.”
“I was away on business.”
“Glad you’re back, sweetie.” One arm around his lean waist, she hugged him and led him up the stairs and past a row of closed doors to her own room. A glaring display of opulence, her room was done in yards and yards of baby-blue satin: bedcovers, bed canopy, draperies, everything was blue satin.
Motioning him to a chair, Sadie poured a straight shot of whiskey and carried it to him, smiling archly. “You look like your saddle’s cinched too tight, sweetie.”
Morgan took a long pull on the whiskey and sighed tiredly. “It might be. Take your damned clothes off.”
Smiling, making a show of it for his benefit, Sadie complied. She had a full, hourglass figure and shapely, tapering legs that she showed off by strutting archly from bureau to clothes closet.
“Now you,” she said, beginning to undress him. That done, she moved into his arms for a kiss.
“What’s the matter, honey?” Usually by the time she kissed him, his response was as immediate as it was predictable. This time, nothing. His face mirrored her concern.
“Here, you lie down, sweetie. Let Sadie take care of this.” Sadie lay down beside him and began stroking and fondling his limp organ. No response. Scooting down, Sadie sucked it into her hot mouth, teasing the tip with her tongue. Enjoying how soft and smooth it felt, she kept her ministrations up for a long time, but it remained flaccid.
At last she scooted up beside him. “What’s wrong, sweetie?”
“Nothing’s wrong, dammit!” he growled. “Maybe I’m just tired.”
Embarrassed that she had pressed him when she damned well knew better, Sadie retreated. “Why didn’t I think of that?” she said soothingly.
Angrily Morgan dressed himself and reached for his wallet.
“It’s on the house, sweetie.”
Morgan pulled out a ten-dollar bill and tossed it on the bureau. “At least my damned wallet still works.”
He stalked over to the Alhambra Saloon and had two drinks, but frustration and fury were driving him. He wanted to get his hands around that bitch’s throat. It was all her fault. If she hadn’t called him Johnny…He should have killed that bastard a long time ago. An image of Judy Burkhart swam before his eyes: her sweet angel face and that lissome, taunting, white body…
A tingle started in his loins. Glancing down, Morgan was stunned to see that he had an erection. And all he’d done was call up her image.
Well, she’d done him a favor at last. Morgan slammed down his glass and stomped out of the saloon. Ignoring the open-mouthed stares of the men who watched him, he walked through town to the Cattle Baron Hotel, sent a boy for Sadie, and took the stairs two at a time.
Sadie stuck her head in the door in record time. She saw the unmistakable bulge along Morgan’s thigh and her eyes lit up.
She never wore much in the way of underclothes. All she had to do was slip the gown down past her shoulders, wiggle it over her hips, and step out of it, but by the time she did Morgan had shriveled to a skinny carrot.
“Damnation!” she swore feelingly. “You sure got a problem.”
“And what the shit is it?” he demanded through gritted teeth.
Sadie shook her head. “I don’t know.” Her eyes widened. “Unless…”
“Unless what?”
“Unless…you’re in love…”
“Bullshit!”
“Well…” She shrugged. “You’d know best.” She paused, staring at him speculatively. “I did have this customer once in Kansas City…he was like you, strong and willing and always able. That feller was a real problem, even to himself. If he couldn’t get a woman, he’d screw anything—sheep, small cows, even chickens—don’t ask me how he did it. Anyway, then he fell in love with one of my gals. All of a sudden he couldn’t do it with anyone except her.” Sadie stared off as if remembering all that lost revenue with great sadness.
“How long did that last?”
“About three weeks. Then it was okay again, except by then he was married. Lost one of my best girls and one of my best customers.”
“Shit!” Morgan exploded. “I don’t love the bitch. I hate her!”
Frowning suddenly, Sadie put her hands on her hips and stared at Morgan. “That’s what he said, too. Until she tried to leave him.”
“She didn’t leave me. I left her!” he roared.
As if she could see the money spilling out of her till, Sadie shook her head sadly and patted Morgan’s hand. “Well, sweetie, take my advice and go back to her. It’s better than being limp for three weeks, getting no sleep at all, and then going back and marrying her.”
Morgan closed his eyes and repeated every curse word he could think of.
Sadie kissed his forehead, walked to the door, looked sadly at Morgan on the bed, and let herself out.
Determined to sleep, Morgan tossed and turned on the bed. He hadn’t slept the night before. That was probably what was wrong with him. He was tired. He’d be a new man after a nap.
If it hadn’t been for Judy…Judy’s face appeared on the inside of his eyelids, then the image of her softly yielding body. He couldn’t forget the seductive pout of her lower lip, the way her lips parted when she opened her mouth to kiss him, the pinkness of her tongue as it waited, just behind her teeth…
A painful tightening started in his loins. Morgan sat up as if the bed had caught fire around him. Sweat beaded his forehead as he looked down. He had swollen to the size of a fist.
“Shit!” Panting with frustration and desire, Morgan cursed Judy Burkhart and the day he’d met her. Was it possible that after enjoying her casually for three years he had fallen in love with her?
What a joke! He hadn’t even bothered to see her the last time she was in town. As soon as that thought seeped into his mind, he rejected it. He wasn�
�t so bad off that he had to lie to himself. Not seeing her that time had been a test of his willpower. And as long as he was being honest, he might as well admit that his trip out to the ranch to talk Steve into transporting the silver had been trumped up primarily so he could see Judy. He didn’t give a damn about silver or paying Wells Fargo’s exorbitant rates. He’d wanted to see her…
Groaning, Morgan rolled over and stood up. Sadie was right. There was no sense at all in spending three weeks like this.
“What?” Steve asked, his expression incredulous. “You’re going back to the ranch? For what?”
“To see Judy,” he said grimly.
“You just saw her.”
“Dammit! We had a fight. I have to talk to her. If I’m not back, start without me. I’ll catch up. You’re going the northern route through Apache Pass?”
“No, southern, the way Russ went. It’s shorter, and Rutledge says we’ll stay clear of Indians. We’ll leave at five tomorrow morning. Hell, you might as well meet us. No sense coming all the way back here. Just head south from the ranch and intercept us.”
“Thanks, Steve.”
Morgan stalked out the door, mounted his fresh horse, and whipped him into a gallop. Steve turned back to the bar and remembered the real reason why he shouldn’t have allowed Morgan to go back to Rancho la Reina: Johnny Brago. The two of them would likely kill each other.
Frustrated with himself, Steve stopped at the beer hall for a bottle of Costello’s famous St. Louis beer. As usual the place was doing a land-office business.
Martin Costello, the owner, clapped Steve on the back.
“Well, I heard the news. You and Todd are going to take a shipment of silver out. Word gets around fast in this town, boy. Your papa would be proud of you. I hear the folks at Wells Fargo are already having second thoughts about the prices they’re chargin’ folks.”
Steve frowned. “How’d you find out we were thinking about taking a shipment out?”
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