Elizabeth swallowed the last bite of her eggs and brushed toast crumbs from her denims. “Absolutely. I can be ready in five minutes.”
“Not dressed like that,” Miguel said. “I want to check with the family that’s caring for Mary and you’ll need to be dressed like a lady. A real one.”
She wrinkled her nose at him. “You mean I have to wear a corset? I’ll need help with it, and I haven’t seen Cactus Flower this morning.”
“I could come with you and draw the laces myself.” He grinned and started walking toward her. “I’ve had some practice.”
“I’ll find Cactus Flower,” she said hastily, and nearly knocked her chair over as she went out the door. She knew he was laughing at her, even though there was silence.
The man was unnerving. He could be such a gentleman—and such a rogue. It had been a week since the incident with the schoolmarm, and he’d been neutrally pleasant. The morning after her fainting spell, he had taken Swift Hawk aside and had a long talk with him. Even though the Indian boy still watched her silently, he left her alone. Miguel had stayed close to her, too, and she would feel herself gradually relaxing, only to become tense again, but for another reason. His closeness. If he got within three feet of her, she could sense his animal magnetism, the uneasy desire that lay potent, just below the surface of civility. The clean scent of him, of soap and leather and a light spice, penetrated her brain with giddiness. Only when she put some distance between them could she think straight.
She met Cactus Flower on the landing leading up the steps to her room and asked for her help. The Indian girl giggled as they stepped inside.
“What’s so funny?” Elizabeth asked.
“Just that don Miguel is taking you to Fort Worth,” she said. When Elizabeth looked puzzled she continued. “He usually stops to visit with Miss Lily. I’ve heard Olga scolding him for it.”
Miss Lily? The madam? Elizabeth’s temper stirred. Did he intend to introduce them, in hopes that she would recover her “memory” as a working girl? Was that the reason he had finally invited her to go with him? Suddenly, a chill swept through her. Maybe he intended to have this madam hire her. Elizabeth had been a guest at his house nearly two months; she hadn’t allowed him to seduce her, nor had she gone to him of her own free will, either. Maybe he wanted to get rid of her. Maybe he wanted to make room for Miss Parsons, after all.
“This dress?” Cactus Flower held out her favorite, a green silk with small yellow flowers on it and a flattering neckline.
“No.” Miguel had said he wanted her to look like a lady—a real one, he’d said, as though she weren’t—well, he’d get a lady, all right. She rummaged toward the back of the closet for the dark gray shirtwaist with its long sleeves and high collar. It was her prim and proper go-to-Sunday-meeting dress. No way was she going to let some real hooker think she was one.
• ♥ •
The team of horses trotted at a mile-eating clip, the surrey not lurching as much as the buckboard did. Elizabeth found that if she clutched the side rail of the seat, she could keep from landing in Miguel’s lap. She had done that once already.
“What’s that? Another town?” Elizabeth pointed toward a small settlement nestled near a stream that flowed not far from the road.
Miguel followed her outstretched finger. “That’s Village Creek. It was once a gathering place for the Comanche.”
“Once? Why did they leave?”
“The white man’s hunger for land. The Peter’s Colony established by the Republic of Texas, gave 320 acres to every couple who would farm it. This area had good water. In 1841, General Tarrant brought in enough troops to drive the Comanche westward.”
“Hmmm, it doesn’t seem fair to the Indians,” Elizabeth said and then glanced at him sideways. “There will be a lake near here one day.”
Miguel gave her a wary look. “Are you going to predict the future again?”
She had to get him to understand she was telling the truth. But how? “Lake Arlington. And there will be a freeway sign named Village Creek Road.”
“Freeway?”
“Freeway—uh—big roads on which horseless carriages drive very fast.”
“Horseless carriages? That’s impossible.” He glanced at her sideways, a troubled expression on his face. “Just when I think you’re rational—a bit hot-tempered, but I like spirited women—you say something like this. Maybe the Army doctor should—”
“No!” Elizabeth could have bitten her tongue. Would she never learn? “You promised me you wouldn’t send me away to rot.” Her hands grasped his arm, her nails digging into the skin where his shirtsleeve was rolled up.
He pulled the horses to a stop and turned to her, gently prying her fingers loose. “You’ll get more cooperation if you kiss me rather than mutilate me.” He let his gaze rest on her lips and then he looked into her eyes. “Want to try?”
“That’s blackmail!” She tried to make her voice strong, but the sleepy, heavy-lidded look he was giving her sent waves of desire shimmying through her. She found herself staring at his wide, full mouth, so close she could feel his breath. She remembered the last slow, sensuous kiss he had given her. Her insides still went to mush at the thought. Elizabeth wet her lips and leaned toward him and then stopped. If she kissed him, he would think she was selling herself for his silence. She straightened and folded her hands in her lap. “I thought you were a gentleman.”
Miguel studied her. “I think a gentleman would bore you to death, Red.” He slapped the reins on the horses’ rumps. “You need a man who will make every inch of your body come alive, playing with you until you beg for mercy. Someone who will make you pant with desire and beg for more—”
“Stop it.” Elizabeth folded her arms across her chest and immediately felt her breasts swell and ache with the need to be touched. How could he do that to her by just talking? “I thought in the 1800s—” She stopped abruptly. “I mean, men aren’t supposed to talk to ladies like that. It shows disrespect.”
Miguel glanced at her. “Is that what you think? That I don’t respect you?”
She searched his face for some hint of sarcasm, but found none. “Do you?”
A muscle twitched as he clenched his jaw and he turned his attention to the horses, urging them into a canter. “More than you’ll ever know.”
• ♥ •
They stopped off first to visit the young girl who had been attacked, Mary. Physically, she had recovered, but she was quiet and withdrawn. Elizabeth’s heart went out to her. The child needed counseling, and she’d taken counseling courses for her master’s degree. If only she could take Mary home. But that was impossible. Swift Hawk was there. The best she could do was to talk with her and listen well. Later, she talked with the farmer’s wife, Bertha, and explained what symptoms signaled depression.
“I think Bertha was quite impressed with you,” Miguel said when they were back in the carriage and headed toward the town near the fort.
“Now will you believe that I’m really a teacher?”
He gave her a long look. “When did teachers start wearing garments like those black silk ones?”
She sighed. “I told you—” The thundering of hooves directly behind them drowned out her voice. A team of six horses pulled a red stagecoach, the words “Wells Fargo” emblazoned in gold on the sides. It overtook them, driving beside them for a few seconds. The driver and shotgun rider swayed perilously as the big coach rocked on its through-braces, the sturdy wooden wheels digging into the road, sending gravel and sand dust flying in their wake.
Miguel’s horses snorted and tried to rear in their harness braces. Expertly he sawed on the reins, speaking in a soothing voice.
“Do they always drive like that?” Elizabeth asked in a shaky voice.
“Yes,” Miguel answered as they rode into town and pulled over next to the stopped coach near the saloon. “To a stage line, time is money. The faster they travel, the less chance for a robbery or Indian attack.” Miguel helped her do
wn from the carriage just as a young woman stepped down from the coach.
Elizabeth stopped and stared. The woman wore well-fitting traveling clothes that showed her slim waist and large breasts, and her hair was the brightest, most unnatural shade of red Elizabeth had ever seen. Her eyes were bright blue, enhanced by a subtle shade of blue shadow. Her lips were rosy, and her cheeks tinted a delicate pink. She had high cheekbones and a full mouth which, Elizabeth noticed, Miguel was looking at appreciatively.
Just then, two men barreled out of the swinging saloon doors, grappling with each other as they fell into the street, landing at the young woman’s feet. She nimbly sidestepped the fighting men and walked over to where Miguel was standing.
She gave Elizabeth a cursory look and then smiled up at Miguel, swinging her lace parasol slightly. “Hi, handsome. Could you help a lady?”
Elizabeth gave an undignified snort. Lady? She doubted it. And Elizabeth didn’t like being ignored as though she weren’t even present. When she saw the corner of Miguel’s mouth quirk up, it only added to her irritation. Surely, he wasn’t going to fall for that line, was he?
“Would you be looking for Miss Lily?” he asked.
For a moment the woman looked nonplused, and then she curved her lips into a knowing smile, the tip of her tongue peeking out at the corner. “Are you well acquainted with her establishment?”
Miguel grinned. “You could say that.”
Elizabeth resisted the urge to kick him in the shin. Was he going to blatantly proposition an obvious prostitute in the middle of the street? And in front of her? The woman was looking at him as though she were ready to flagrantly strip, right here and now.
Several more men crowded out the saloon door, yelling angrily at each other. One hit another over the head with a whiskey bottle, and a free-for-all erupted.
Miguel took each woman by the arm and moved them away from the mêlée. “I think perhaps we should escort you there. It seems rowdier than usual today.”
Escort her? “I’m not going anywhere near that place,” Elizabeth said and tried to jerk her arm away.
Miguel merely pulled her closer, until the side of her breast was crushed against the hard muscles of his arm. “Would you rather stay here with a bunch of drunks?”
Why did he have to pick today to be chivalrous? Why couldn’t he just point the way and let the hooker find her own way? Of course, she knew the answer. The girl was pretty…and obviously willing.
He helped both of them into the carriage and smiled slowly as Elizabeth made sure she got the front seat next to him. He didn’t need to look so cocky about that. He hiked the woman’s trunk onto the rumble seat and drove them the four blocks to the edge of town.
Lily’s “establishment” sat back from the main street, a well-maintained two-story house with swings on the front porch and a manicured lawn, brown now in the winter. Flowerbed patches waited for spring. A wrought-iron fence surrounded the place. It looked nothing like what Elizabeth thought a brothel would look.
As they approached the steps to the front door, it opened, and the biggest man Elizabeth had ever seen greeted them. Close to seven feet tall, his skin was ebony-black, and his voice a deep bass.
“Afternoon, don Miguel. Come on in.” He glanced over the ladies and his white teeth flashed in a smile. “I thought Miss Lily was only expecting one girl.”
“She is, Clarence.” Miguel answered and turned to Elizabeth. “You wait here in the foyer. I’ll be back shortly.”
Where was he going? She watched as he walked away with the prostitute. Surely, he wasn’t going to have a quickie while she sat alone, seated off the entrance, waiting for him? She didn’t like the way the woman clung to his arm, either.
“Can I help you?”
Elizabeth turned to find a gray-haired woman with glasses smiling at her. She was pleasantly plump and dressed in a shirtwaist, similar to what Elizabeth was wearing. A soft woolen shawl draped over her shoulders. Probably the housekeeper.
“I’m waiting for someone.”
The woman’s smile broadened. “Most of the girls here are.” She tilted her head to one side. “You’re very pretty. The letter of reference you sent didn’t lie.”
Letter? Dear God! This woman thought she was the hooker.
“I’m Lily,” the woman said and held out her hand. “I can’t imagine why Clarence let you sit out here. He usually takes the new girls straight to the back to get checked in.”
This was Lily? She looked like someone’s grandma.
“Come,” Lily said. “I’ll show you the salon and sitting rooms and explain how we transact business here.”
“I’m not—”
“I see you’ve met Lily,” Miguel said as he strolled in swirling a brandy.
“Miguel! What a nice surprise!” Lily grasped his hand warmly and offered her cheek for a kiss. “I didn’t know you were coming. This is Sharee, my newest girl from New Orleans. Maybe later, when she’s checked in properly—?”
The corner of his mouth twitched as he leaned over Elizabeth and wound a strand of her hair around his finger. “Nothing would please me more, Lily.”
Elizabeth glared at him as he let the back of his hand seductively trace the curve of her cheek. Lightly, his hand dropped to her shoulder. Good Lord, was he going to touch her breast? Heat from his touch seared straight to her nipple. She couldn’t bear it if he did and she was going to hate it if he didn’t. Even with Miss Lily right here.
Miguel was watching her, hidden laughter in his eyes. He knew exactly what he was doing to her! She brushed his hand away.
Miguel straightened and sighed. “Sharee’s in the back. This is Elizabeth.”
Lily’s eyes widened. “So you’re the one. Well, well.” She glanced at Miguel with concern. “You may be spending the night here anyway.”
Miguel arched an eyebrow. “Why?”
“We’ve had rumors the Comanche are massing west of here in preparation for the trial, but the more pressing problem at the moment is the circuit judge hasn’t arrived yet. Tempers are running high, and there’s been talk of lynching to save the judge a trip. Folks are wanting to hold a kangaroo court.”
“The braves are safe in the brig,” Miguel said.
“Maybe. But the military isn’t enforcing civil law. What we need is a Ranger.”
Miguel frowned. “I wasn’t expecting this. Has Tate-Johnson been sent for?”
Lily shook her head. “There hasn’t been time. Most of the real trouble started brewing this morning when some hired guns rode in, offering to kill the braves themselves. For a fee, of course.”
He set the brandy down. “I’ll go over to the saloon and see what I can do.”
Elizabeth stood. “I’m going with you. I can get a room at the hotel.”
“I need you to stay here. It’s a lot safer for you to stay out of the town proper.” Miguel looked at Lily. “You do have a room?”
Lily nodded. “I have one that’s unoccupied.”
“Good,” Miguel said. “I’ll take a room at the hotel across the street from the saloon. I’ll be able to keep an eye on things from there.”
Lily’s eyes twinkled. “The hotel sold out this afternoon when the hired guns arrived.” She turned to Elizabeth. “Let me show you to your quarters. I hope you won’t mind sharing them with Miguel.”
Elizabeth stared at her, speechless, but Miguel only grinned as he turned to leave.
“I’ll be back,” he said.
CHAPTER NINE—LIFE IN THE OLD WEST
Miguel could feel the tension even as he swung the saloon door open. Not good. The air was as static as after a lightning strike. The hired guns—five of them—sat at a table facing the door, their backs to the wall. Not surprising, for their line of work.
“What’s to stop us from stormin’ the fort’s gate ourselves and demanding a trial here and now?” one of the locals asked. “We don’t need gunfighters. We need justice.”
“They raped a white girl. They don’
t deserve justice,” someone shouted.
“Lynch the Injuns, I say,” said another. “To hell with waitin’ for the judge!”
Shouts of approval swelled up from the crowd and glasses clattered on the bar for more whiskey.
Miguel stepped inside, resting the butt of the Sharps rifle casually under his arm and the long barrel over his forearm. He looked at the bartender. “The bar’s closed.”
Instant silence reigned. All heads turned to look at him, some with glasses raised halfway to their lips, their mouths agape.
“Who would you be?” one of the hired guns drawled, his hand drifting lower.
Miguel lifted the barrel slightly. “I’d keep my hands on the table.”
The man hesitated and then slowly brought his hand back up. “I’m still waitin’ on an answer.”
With his left hand, Miguel pulled the metal star out of his pocket and stuck it on his leather vest. “Ranger. We’re the law around here.” He looked again at the barkeep. “Bar’s closed. These men need to go home and sleep it off before they find themselves looking at the brig from the inside out.”
The bartender nodded nervously and began collecting glasses. The men at the bar grumbled and others shot their whiskey down fast. Most of them, if they didn’t know Miguel personally, had seen him enough to know he meant business. The more sober of the group helped their rowdier friends to the door.
One of the hired guns stood. “Ranger, huh? Is it true what they say? ‘One Ranger, one battle’? There’s five of us here. From Kansas. We don’t hold to accountin’ to a Texas Ranger. Maybe you’ve got somethin’ to prove?”
“No…no shootin’ in my bar,” the barkeep stuttered.
“There doesn’t need to be any shooting anywhere,” Miguel answered, his eyes boring into the gunslinger’s. “Regardless of what anyone thinks, those braves will get a fair trial. If they’re sentenced to hang, they’ll hang. But it’ll be done legal. No kangaroo court. No vigilantes.” He glanced at the other four and then back to the one standing. “Now, gentlemen, I’d suggest you retire for the day, nice and peaceful.”
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