“Back before she met Powers, I imagine,” he replied with a short laugh. He studied her for a moment, and decided she would be sympathetic to a secret he’d been keeping, now that she understood other parts of his past. “My parents were very close, too, until my father died in a fire. Mama’s injuries were relatively minor, but she was gone less than a month later. Victim of a broken heart, I think.”
“Oh, Dillon, I’m sorry.” Charity reached for him, sensing he’d shared his pain with very few people. “Is that why you left home when you were so young, and became a gambler?”
“Partly.” He wished he hadn’t burdened her with the tragedy that shaped several years of his life, yet he knew she was curious about his family—and as his wife and traveling companion, she had a right to know more of the story. “It was my father’s casino in San Francisco that went up in flames, so gambling was the natural profession for me to follow. And it financed my traveling while I tracked down the man who murdered him.”
Charity’s eyes widened. “Someone set the fire?”
“Indirectly. And I spent nearly eight years chasing the killer’s shadow, unable to corner him because he was always a few days or a few states ahead of me.” He gave her a wry smile, smoothing the glossy red waves that sleep had mussed. “When I won the Crystal Queen, I decided it was time to stop wasting my life and my money on a manhunt that wouldn’t bring my parents back. Until the night you showed up.”
“Me?”
Her confused expression made Devereau scoot closer so he could enfold her in his arms. “When you sang ‘In the Sweet By And By’ up on the Queen’s stage, you reminded me so much of my mother I couldn’t take my eyes off you,” he explained. “And when you showed me the photograph you thought was your mother and her twin with Powers—”
“Powers!” Charity pulled away to look closely at him. “You didn’t admit you knew him until we got to Leavenworth, and now you’re saying he killed your father, aren’t you?”
“You don’t miss a trick,” he whispered in a voice muted with awe. Charity was fully awake now, her jade eyes wide with shock, and he hoped the woman in his arms would listen carefully. “Now you know why I was so eager to go to Leavenworth with you, and why I’ve agreed to finance the search for your mother. If you don’t want to become further involved in the chase, I’ll understand. The fact that your mother’s in league with a cold-blooded killer ups the ante quite a lot, as far as the danger’s concerned.”
She considered his story, caught between demanding the full truth about his tragedy and remaining ignorant of her husband’s darker motives. “What did Powers do, Dillon?” she asked quietly. “Why would he kill your father?”
“For spite,” Devereau replied with a snort. “He was there to bankrupt our business, which competed with his own, and when my father ordered him out, Powers cried foul play. Shot down a chandelier, which knocked my father to the floor and set his clothes on fire. In the panic that followed, Powers somehow escaped.”
Charity gazed sorrowfully at her husband, whose eyes had lost their usual luster. “And you think Powers will try to kill you if he learns you’re on his trail again?”
“I’m guessing he already knows,” Dillon sighed. “A man of his means undoubtedly has spies on his payroll.” He toyed with a lock of her hair, wishing he could bury his face in her softly rounded breasts rather than broach this uncomfortable subject again. “Erroll Powers’s greed knows no rules or limits, sweetheart. If he can’t get to me, he’ll retaliate by hurting you or your father, which is why you’re free to go back home if you don’t want to risk your life because of me. I’ll certainly understand.”
Charity felt a sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach. “Don’t you want me to stay with you, Dillon?” she asked softly.
If he answered yes, he would be responsible for her life, because he knew damn well Powers would put Charity in jeopardy as a means to derail his search. And he sensed Marcella Scott would turn against Noah—and probably her daughter—without a second thought. Yet if he told Charity to go home, especially after the physical and emotional intimacies they’d shared these past few days, she’d be devastated. He was pleased that her father had finally shown her some consideration, but he took Brother Scott at face value: life in Jefferson City would be an eternal funeral for the sensitive, talented woman he now held at arm’s length. “I want you to have a long, happy life, honey—a chance to pursue your music, and have a family, and—”
“I don’t recall expecting any of those things of you,” she interrupted quietly.
Devereau suddenly wished she did, so they could either make the break or commit to each other forever. “You deserve more than I can give you, Charity. And if you were to get hurt—or get killed, for Chrissakes—I’d never forgive myself.”
Her half-eaten slice of bread was no longer appealing; her appetite had disappeared along with the glowing warmth she’d again begun to feel for this man, who was now searching her face with his gambler’s eyes—eyes she could no longer read. “A deal’s a deal, Devereau,” she replied dryly. “I’m giving you the respectability you need and you’re providing a free ride so I can find my mother. Maybe you should’ve told me up front that Erroll Powers killed your father, but it probably wouldn’t have affected my decision. I think I’d better get dressed for church.”
Devereau would have preferred a resounding slap to her quiet reminder of his deal. Why the hell had he worded his proposal in such a way? He got no pleasure from watching Charity don pale green lingerie he’d bought to complement her eyes, because her halfhearted manner showed exactly how disappointed she was with him. The forest green dress reminded him of the evening they’d dashed through a downpour and shared a first kiss, and although his fingers itched to arrange her auburn waves with the tortoiseshell combs, Dillon knew she would refuse his help.
Papa was waiting for them downstairs in the hotel’s parlor, his eyes following their moves and moods. Charity tucked her arm through Dillon’s and smiled sweetly. “Good morning, Papa. Did you rest well?”
“Not badly, considering how many strange beds we’ve slept in of late.” He patted the breast of his black frock coat, which rattled slightly. “After meeting Brother Hayes yesterday, I had some handbills printed to distribute after this morning’s worship. A fine man, Hayes—has heard of the crowds I’ve drawn to my tent meetings, and is pleased to host one for us. Of course, that means we have to share the take with him, but at least I’ll earn enough to cover my expenses for the remainder of our journey.”
Devereau held the door open, wondering if Scott had scheduled the revival to postpone the confrontation with his wife. But he was pleased the preacher was once again full of himself: it meant he’d be too busy saving souls to go looking for a monte game, and perhaps too preoccupied to notice his daughter’s crestfallen mood. “That certainly speaks well of your reputation, Reverend,” he commented as they walked along the avenue. “My offer still stands, though. I’m even happier to pay your way now that Charity’s my wife.”
Charity forced herself to return her husband’s smile, wishing with all her heart she understood the man who could show her dizzying delights one moment and then plunge her into despair only a few words later.
“You’re most kind, Brother Devereau, but I don’t want to wear out your generosity. I may need it again someday.” The preacher gave him a polite nod then looked at Charity, who walked quietly between them. “I’m assuming you’ll be available to accompany our hymns, daughter, but if you and your husband have made other plans—”
“I’ll be happy to play, Papa,” she mumbled.
“Good. And would you help take up the collection, Devereau?” Scott asked. “It would give me great pleasure to introduce you to the congregation, with testimony as to how you’ve seen the evil of your previous—”
“Perhaps another time,” Dillon interrupted. “I’m playing poker with some old friends this afternoon.”
The Reverend’s brow furrowed. “
It’s the Sabbath, Mr. Devereau, and—”
“I earn my living at cards, sir. And after the expenses I’ve incurred these past few days—”
“—I can’t imagine where you’ll play. The gaming rooms here in Wichita all seem to be closed.”
“—I need to replenish my pockets.” Dillon almost laughed: the preacher had looked for a game! “And I think these fellows might point us toward our next destination, since one of them works for the Kansas Pacific and the others own businesses on Douglas Avenue.” He opened the door of the white frame church they’d arrived at, smiling at his father-in-law. “Ordinarily I’d be pleased to spend Sunday with my new family, but time’s of the essence when it comes to finding your wife. Don’t you agree?”
Charity saw a look pass between them, an exchange she sensed she wasn’t supposed to understand. Men of the congregation were approaching them with outstretched hands, and their wives were smiling at her, so it was no time to appear lost in her own confusing little world. Judging from the enthusiastic greetings they were receiving, Reverend Hayes had spread word of Papa’s presence, and the start of the service had to be delayed so all the introductions could be completed.
But once the opening hymns were sung and Brother Hayes read from the Scriptures, Charity’s mind wandered. She focused on the gaunt, balding preacher so no one would suspect she wasn’t listening—a skill she’d honed to perfection over the years—and pondered what had passed between herself and Dillon. Why had he waited until this morning to inform her that Mama was in cahoots with the man who killed his father? And how could he take her into his confidence one minute, arousing her sympathy over the loss of his parents, only to suggest with his next breath that he thought she and Papa should return to Missouri? Surely a man who made love so tenderly felt some sort of affection for her, and yet . . .
“—but before I deliver the day’s message, I’m pleased to make one final announcement,” the preacher said in his reedy voice. He smiled directly at them, so Charity responded with a nod, as Papa did.
“We have as our guest the renowned theologian, the Reverend Noah Scott,” Hayes continued. His smile was almost sappy as he surveyed the murmuring congregation. “He and his lovely daughter Charity are passing through en route from Jefferson City, Missouri, and have offered to hold a revival here at two this afternoon. Mildred McCurdle has informed me that the Women’s Christian Temperance Union will provide refreshments afterward, so I encourage each of you to attend this event, which will undoubtedly enlighten and uplift us all.”
Devereau smiled to himself while he watched people turning around for a better look at Noah. The WCTU was the main reason the Reverend couldn’t find a gambling house open these days, and the most compelling reason for Fred McCurdle to host a private game while his wife served refreshments at the revival. The winnings wouldn’t be as impressive as in the days when he and Fred and Gabriel Iverson and Ollie Zumwalt drove up the stakes at the local gaming establishments, but he hoped to collect enough that he wouldn’t have to telegraph Abe for a bank draft. Littleton would be flabbergasted if he knew how much he’d spent on Charity this week. The thought made Dillon chuckle a little too loudly as the sermon began.
It was the only laughter Charity heard for the rest of the day. After church they passed out handbills and accepted Hayes’s offer to buy their noon meal, since he had no wife to cook one for them. The men carried on dinner conversation with only an occasional remark addressed to her, which gave her ample time to wonder yet again how Dillon really felt about her. He patted her hand and smiled at appropriate times, keeping up appearances as a new husband, but when they left the restaurant he seemed eager to be on his way.
Dillon took Charity’s elbow and gave her father a pointed look so he would allow them a few moments alone. “I’m sorry I won’t hear you sing this afternoon, sweetheart,” he said quietly. She was so withdrawn, obviously hurt by the way he’d treated her—again—and he wasn’t sure how to win her back. “Had I known your father was planning a revival, I would’ve—”
“It’s all right, Dillon,” she mumbled. “You’re the only one of us who knows where to get information about Mama and Powers. And I have cost you a lot of money.”
He let out an exasperated sigh. “Honey, I would gladly have spent twice what I—the money’s not the issue at all.” Devereau held her by the shoulders, beseeching her with his gaze. “Wealth can’t warm my bed or sing to me in the morning or make me the least bit happy, yet you can do all those things without even trying. Charity, I want you to stay with me. This whole trip’s meaningless without you, and if you want go home, I’ll be on the eastbound train with you.”
She studied him solemnly, watching a shadow fall across his face when a cloud covered the sun. “Do you really mean that?”
“Absolutely.” Devereau gave her a grin, hoping she’d return it. “We make a good team, you and I. Nothing I’d like better than to have you spotting holdouts for me this afternoon, but you have obligations to meet, just as I have.”
Nodding, she glanced toward Papa’s retreating figure and then smiled timidly at Dillon. “I’d love to watch you play. And I—I’d like you to teach me more about the cards sometime.”
“We’ll start tonight,” he replied, squeezing her shoulders. “Strip poker’s the perfect game for newlyweds, don’t you think?”
“But I won’t stand a chance! I’ll surely lose—”
“That’s the whole point, my love,” he said with a chuckle. He leaned down and kissed her, hoping to restore the confidence and trust his badly phrased words had eroded earlier.
His lips were firm and warm, and Charity wound her arms around him, forgetting that they were standing on Douglas Avenue amid people who were strolling to Sunday afternoon engagements. When he finally released her, she looked cautiously into his golden eyes. “Dillon, may I ask you something?”
“Certainly, sweetheart.”
She gripped the hands he’d wrapped around hers, hoping to keep him from evading an honest answer this time. “Am . . . am I really your love?”
He’d used the endearment often, so it deserved to be more than a casual phrase. And his wife’s expression said she wanted very much to believe it. “Yes. Yes, you are my love, Charity,” he murmured as he raised her delicate hands to his lips. “And tonight when we’re alone together, I intend to prove it. Again and again.”
Dillon’s suggestive tone filled her with a giddy warmth that rose straight to her cheeks. He kissed her quickly on the mouth and gave her bustle a playful swat.
“Better put all your new underthings on before our game tonight, Mrs. Devereau,” he said with a teasing wink, because your husband can’t wait to take them off you.”
Charity watched him walk down the street, waving when he turned toward a residential section of large, impressive homes. But at one-thirty, as she was coming out of the privy behind the church, a broad hand covered her mouth and she was roughly hoisted onto a painted pony, into the arms of the Indian wearing the headband. His partner let out a low, triumphant whoop and swung onto his own horse, and they went galloping down Douglas Avenue.
Chapter 16
“So what brings you to Wichita, Devereau? Last I heard, you was makin’ millions in a Kansas City gamblin’ house.”
Dillon smiled at Ollie Zumwalt while keeping a careful eye on the poker preparations. The four of them were seated around a table in Fred McCurdle’s parlor; Ollie and Gabe Iverson arrived several minutes earlier than he had. “We’re here on my wife’s behalf,” he replied as Gabe dealt the first hand. “Looking for her mother, actually.”
“Don Juan Devereau got married?” Iverson said with a laugh. “You must have a ring through your nose, to be hunting your mother-in-law.”
“Or else the wife’s a sweet young thing who’s got him wrapped around her finger,” Fred teased. His face lit up, as though a smile felt good. “But then, Dillon could never refuse a lady anything her heart desired.”
He expected t
heir ribbing, after the way he’d behaved on his last visit, and he sensed these men had also settled into a life that was much less exciting than the days when Wichita teemed with whores and gunslingers. “Man can’t live by money alone,” he said with a shrug.
“I’d sure like to try it,” their host replied. He laid a pair of cards on the table. “I’ll take two, Gabe.”
“Yeah, and gimme a couple while you’re at it,” Ollie chimed in.
They studied their hands silently. On his left, Fred McCurdle gripped his cards in fingers that were as pale as the royalty Devereau held. Fred was an accountant whose clients had once included cattle barons and madams, a man forced to adjust his standard of living when the money moved on to Dodge. Across from him, Gabe Iverson’s mustache fluttered as he exhaled cigar smoke. When Zumwalt pulled a pair of blue-tinted spectacles from his pocket, Devereau’s hunch was confirmed: the deck was marked with ink only Ollie could see, a method Zumwalt had used when he was the dealer in Bessie Earp’s whorehouse. Though less educated, he was the shrewdest among them, so Iverson and McCurdle would be depending on him to carry their game.
“How’s the smithing business?” he asked Ollie as he placed ten dollars in the center of the table.
“Well, I’d ruther be shooin’ whores than shoein’ horses, ya know,” Zumwalt replied with a guffaw, “but it’s a livin’. Lotsa plows and farm wagons to fix, now that the wheat’s nearly in.”
Dillon nodded, watching the others put in their ante. He detested chatty games, but with three men vying for the fortune they falsely assumed he’d brought along, he planned to use talk of bygone times to his advantage. After the bet went around, he raised it by twenty dollars. “You’re not still holding a grudge about that last wager I talked you into, are you, Zumwalt?”
The smithy chortled and threw in his money. “Hell, no! Got y’outta town so’s the rest of us could afford to play cards, didn’t I?” He glanced at Gabe, adjusting the tinted spectacles. “Was you around for that, Iverson? That time him and the Injun conned us into bettin’ whether the ant or the louse would run off a hot plate faster?”
Gambler's Tempting Kisses Page 19