by Pam Crooks
“You’re my wife,” he said, as if that was all the answer she needed.
It wasn’t. She knew so little about him and the life he’d led, the people with whom he associated and what they were about.
More apprehensive than ever, she glanced away.
“You’re a beautiful woman, Hannah. I’m proud to have you with me.”
“I know nothing of being a wife and how to act as one. I’ve never been schooled in social niceties. Well, my mother taught me some, but I was so young then--.”
He halted her babbling by covering her lips with his, and her worries floated away on a sigh.
“Hush,” he breathed into her mouth. “Just keep on trusting me, darlin’, and you’ll be fine. We both will.” He drew back, his dark eyes smoldering into hers. “Okay?”
She nodded, though she wasn’t as sure as she led him to believe.
“Let’s go, then.” He nudged her toward the gelding and hefted her up. “I’ve got a strong hankering for a shave and a long, hot bath.”
There was a time in Quinn’s life when he thought he’d never again see this particular landscape, and the reality of it clogged his throat with raw emotion.
Amarillo. Vibrant and alive in the grand state of Texas.
Jesus. It felt good to feast his eyes on this place.
In the time he’d been gone, the town’s boundaries had widened in all four directions, and his chest swelled with pride and amazement.
From their vantage point on a knoll along the outskirts, he recalled when Amarillo wasn’t much more than a cowtown. They’d gone to school here, he and Elliott, until their mother died and their father, T.J. Landry, bought into one of the fastest-growing ranches in Potter County. Over the years, his father had assumed ownership, changed the brand to Star L, and when he died, left the entire outfit to Quinn.
From the time he was a lowly cowhand still wet behind the ears until he became the owner of a quarter-million acre spread, Quinn worked hard to build a name for himself amongst his fellow cattlemen. The citizens of Amarillo loved and respected him. Life had been full and rich and good.
Until that fateful day when he’d been yanked from his bed, convicted, and dragged across the state line. An ugly, festering sore on the town’s butt. Disowned and dishonored.
Now, the thought of going back, of walking amongst honest citizenry, eating and drinking and talking with them, unnerved him. He’d been locked up in a dark, foul-smelling cell for so damned long.
What if he had forever lost the man he’d been?
“Scary, isn’t it?’ Hannah asked quietly.
He clawed through his grim thoughts and focused his gaze on her.
“Yeah,” he said roughly, surprised she knew what he’d been thinking. “It is.”
“It’s been a long time for me, too. The convent hid me away from polite society. I worry that I have forgotten what it is like.” She settled those velvety hazel-green eyes on him. “To be a normal woman, I mean.”
He was responsible for pulling her out of her safe world and thrusting her into the uncertainties of his. Was he no better than Elliott?
The thought disgusted him. Quinn reached over and took her hand in silent apology, then pressed a kiss to the smooth skin over her knuckle.
A touch of pink covered her cheeks, but she didn’t pull away.
“Whenever Pa and I were on the run,” she continued. “We’d end up in a strange town, and I was always terrified someone would recognize us, and we’d be thrown in jail for his latest crime.” Her mouth softened in a rueful smile. “Or mine.”
Slow and assessing, her gaze swept the horizon, broken by assorted rooftops and chimneys along the skyline.
“We were recognized only once. Later that night, they lynched him.” A faint sheen of tears shone in her eyes, but she blinked them away and drew in a breath. “That won’t happen to you, will it, Quinn?”
He’d be a bald-faced liar if he told her he’d never thought of it or that it wasn’t possible. They both knew it was.
He gave her hand a reassuring squeeze.
“Hell, darlin’. You’re taking all the fun out of my homecoming. Let’s just ride in and see what happens, shall we?”
She nodded. He released her, and she took the reins. Quinn pulled his Stetson’s brim low over his eyes, and they entered the town limits at an unhurried pace.
They rode onto Third Street. Men, women and children hustled along boardwalks far more crowded than Quinn remembered. The pungency of warm horseflesh and manure, the taste of dust on his tongue, the clatter of bells, and shouting voices and barking dogs were all familiar. Suddenly, it was as if he’d never lived the nightmare and had left Amarillo only yesterday.
Damn, it was good to be back.
“Ever been in Amarillo before, Mrs. Landry?” he asked over the clamor of wagons and buggies.
“Never.” She appeared fascinated by the variety of falsefront businesses and brick buildings. “Been to Austin once, though.”
“A fair city, Austin. Been there many times myself.”
They turned a corner onto Polk Street.
“Ah. The Amarillo Hotel.” He took in the sight of it and braced himself for the memories it evoked. “The finest place in town for a man to get a good night’s rest.”
“Really,” she murmured, tilting her head back to scan the two levels of the sprawling structure. “I’m impressed.”
He dismounted and tied the gelding to one of the dozen hitching posts. After assisting Hannah down, he secured her horse next to his. She studied him, her expression somber with unanswered questions.
He went to her, rested his hands easily on her hips. She was less skittish these days, allowing him to touch her more often. He wondered at her thoughts. Did she still think him capable of murder?
“I was staying here the night Sarah, my sister-in-law, was killed,” he said. “They always kept a room ready for me when I could get away from the ranch.” A corner of his mouth lifted. “A home away from home.”
“Oh.” She sent an uncertain glance toward the double doors, inset with beveled glass. “And you want to go back? Now?”
“I have to, Hannah.”
She pursed her mouth and appeared doubtful. He slid his hand to the small of her waist and guided her up the stairs.
Pushing through the doors, Quinn inhaled the scents he’d always associated with the hotel and had never forgotten--linseed oil and beeswax, expensive cigars, imported whiskey. And money. Lots of it.
The Amarillo spared no expense in the upkeep of its lobby, smoking and billiards rooms, and especially not in the sleeping rooms for its guests. Everything was as he remembered. Every polished, velvet-draped, Oriental-rugs-and-furnishings-from-London inch of it.
But, hell, the lavishness still stunned him.
It was all so different from his filthy prison cell. The comparison forced him to appreciate its beauty. The privilege. And he’d taken it all for granted once, when he’d been a cocky cowboy still sowing his oats, and even later, as a wealthy cattleman.
“Can I help you?”
The hotel clerk’s cool question tugged at Quinn’s attention, and he urged Hannah into the deserted lobby. From behind his gleaming, tidy counter, the man, in his early forties, eyed him with haughty disdain.
Quinn didn’t recognize him. He’d expected to find someone else at the counter, one of the hotel’s most loyal servants who always saw to it that Quinn’s every need had been met.
“Is Humphrey here?”
“Humphrey?” The man appeared taken aback. “Why, no. He hasn’t been with us for quite some time now.”
A loss, Quinn thought. For himself and the hotel.
“I need a room, then. The best you’ve got,” he said.
A thick eyebrow rose. The clerk’s gaze dragged over Quinn’s dust-covered clothes, seemed to note the growth of beard on his face, then flitted dismissingly over Hannah.
Neither of them looked as if they owned a pot to piss in, Quinn thoug
ht with amusement.
Which they didn’t.
Not yet, anyway.
The man sniffed. “Our best room comes with a price, I’m afraid. Do you have means, sir?”
“Charge it to my brother’s account,” he said. “Elliott Landry, from the Star L ranch.”
The clerk’s expression remained impassive. “Is your brother aware of the charges, sir?”
“I’ll tell him.” Annoyance flickered through Quinn. “Just as soon as I see him.”
The clerk appeared skeptical. “I’m sorry. Until I receive agreement from your, er, brother that all fees will be settled, I cannot give you a room. You understand, certainly.”
“Give him what he wants, Wesley. He’ll make good on the bill. I’ll see to it.”
Quinn turned slowly at the sound of her voice.
A woman, dressed in a plain black dress and starched white apron and cap, stood at the foot of the staircase leading to the second floor rooms. She gripped a cloth and a bottle of linseed oil in her hands.
Loretta Carter had worked at the Amarillo Hotel for the past five years. She’d been a prostitute before that, and Quinn had been one of her regulars, more out of friendship than lust.
He’d been the one to persuade Loretta to leave her madam and lead a respectable life, had even gone as far as finding her employment at the Amarillo. She’d taken pride in her job, had worked hard at it, and was newly married at the time of his arrest.
“Is it really you, Quinn Landry?” she asked, her voice hardly above a whisper. She’d gone pale. Hauntingly so.
He grinned in genuine pleasure and held out his arms. She dropped her cloth and bottle of oil and ran to him, clinging tight as he whirled around in a full circle, forcing Hannah to move quickly aside lest she get in their way.
“Lord, I thought I’d never see you again!” She kissed him full on the mouth. “Oh, Quinn!”
She hugged him again, hard.
“It’s good to see you, too.” He set her from him gently. Firmly. “I want you to meet my wife, Loretta. This is Hannah.”
“Your wife?” She gaped at Hannah, her jaw lagging. Tears shone in her eyes, threatening to snake down her cheeks. “But, how--when?”
“I’ll explain later.” He wasn’t kin to telling his story in front of the staring hotel clerk. “Hannah, this is Loretta Carter.”
“I’m sorry. You must forgive me.” Loretta took Hannah’s hand before Hannah could say a word. “Quinn and I go way back.” She gaped at him. “I--I haven’t seen him since--since--.”
“Before my arrest.”
“Yes,” she whispered. A shudder took her.
Hannah appeared uncertain at his relationship with this new woman, and he twined his fingers through hers in silent assurance. Her clasp tightened, and he thought she moved a little closer to him.
“Let’s put them in the front suite, Wesley,” Loretta said firmly, turning to the clerk. “I’ve just aired out the rooms this morning. They’ll be clean and fresh.”
“But--” he sputtered.
“Just give me the key.” She slid the guest book toward Hannah, along with a pen. “They’ll pay the bill. I promise.”
Quinn crossed his arms over his chest and let Loretta take care of the matter. Hannah took the preferred writing utensil and prepared to register them. The tip hovered over the paper, and after a moment’s hesitation, she wrote their name on the proper line.
Mr. and Mrs. Quinn Landry. Amarillo, Texas.
He liked the looks of it, scrawled in her neat, precise handwriting. Seeing the words written in black and white made their marriage even more real.
Evidently, Hannah thought so, too. She refused to look at him.
“Come on, you two.” Loretta hastened toward the stairs with their room key in her hand. She retrieved the cloth and polishing oil as she made her way to the second floor. Quinn and Hannah followed, leaving the hotel clerk frowning after them.
Chapter 16
Loretta led them up a winding flight of stairs and turned into a wide hall. A skylight brightened the area and allowed hotel guests to appreciate the mica satin wallpaper and the thick carpet in deep hues of green, gold and blue.
But Quinn hardly noticed. A powerful sense of déjà vu gripped him.
He halted in mid-stride. His gaze fastened on the door they’d just passed, its front inscribed with the numbers 201 in shining brass.
His old room.
The one in which Sarah had died.
His mind reverted to a blinding flash of the past, of this hallway, of Elliott and someone else dragging him from his bed. He’d been dazed, his brain sluggish and drugged, but he’d fought back.
His gaze leapt to the mahogany pedestal at the end of the hall. A lush fern used to sit on its marble top. He remembered kicking out, knocking it over. He remembered hearing the planter break and seeing dirt scatter.
A philodendron sat on the marble now, its foliage green and profuse. The fern was gone, as if that night had never happened.
“Do you want to go inside?” Loretta asked, her tone solemn.
He stared at the number again.
“No,” he said, the memories heavy on his shoulders, so heavy he feared he’d crumple beneath their weight.
Room 201 had haunted him when he’d been in the depths of despair, chained in his prison cell and hanging onto his sanity by his own teeth. He’d vowed to hunt down its secrets, to throw open wide the truth of what really happened the night Sarah was killed.
Seeing the room, reliving the horrors, wouldn’t bring her back.
“Quinn?” Hannah’s soft voice drew him. She touched his shoulder and moved closer. “This is where it happened, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” he whispered.
An involuntary shudder wracked him. She murmured his name again and wound her arms around him. He closed his eyes and held her tight.
“They burned the mattress and all the bedding after your arrest.” Loretta’s voice sounded far away. “There was so much blood. That room is evil. I’ve never set foot in there again.”
He wanted to go on holding Hannah, but he knew Loretta waited with respectful patience, and he reluctantly ended the embrace. Loretta followed them inside the suite and closed the door firmly behind her.
She had Mexican blood, but she was light-skinned from her predominantly Anglo heritage. Black eyes and hair, combined with exquisitely carved features, had formed Loretta into an exotic beauty. Her years as a prostitute had toughened her to the ways of the world, and there was little that shocked her.
Sarah’s death seemed to be one of the exceptions.
“How did you get here, Quinn?” she asked quietly. “They said you were dead. That you’d died in prison.”
“They?”
“Everyone. It was the talk of Amarillo. Even the newspapers picked up on it.”
His brow rose in thinly veiled contempt. “Then maybe they should check their facts before they print them. I’ve alive, though there were days when I’d wished I wasn’t.”
“You escaped?”
“Yes. From the New Mexico Territorial Penitentiary.”
Tears welled all over again and formed dark pools in her eyes. “They took you out of the state. God, Quinn. The New Mexico prison is known for its--.” She halted, her features pained. “How did you ever survive it?”
“By the hide on my sorry ass, that’s how.” He glanced at Hannah. She’d removed her cloak and stood hugging the tattered thing to her bosom. “And with the help of my wife.”
Loretta sniffled and swiped at the tears. “I should have done more for you.”
Quinn took off his Stetson and tossed it on the bed. “There’s nothing you could have done.”
She bit her lip. She’d yet to move from the door.
“Is there anything I can do now?” she asked. “Just name it.”
He leaned back against a washstand with shiny tiles. “As a matter of fact, there is.”
“I’ll do it.”
Her willingness surprised him. And satisfied him.
“For one thing, don’t say a word to anyone that I’m here. I’ll meet with the necessary people as I see fit. The news will spread soon enough.”
“And Elliott?”
“Elliott.” He paused and thought of the revenge that had kept him alive. “I’ll meet with him when I’m ready.”
She nodded. And seemed to understand.
“Draw a bath for Hannah. See that she has everything she wants. She’ll need clothes, too. From the skin out.”
Loretta wiped at the last of her tears. “My shift here is over. I’ll take her shopping.”
“No. I don’t want her to leave this room until I return.” He appealed to Hannah, though his decision was firm. “Okay?”
“A long soak in a hot bath would be heavenly,” Hannah said wistfully. “But, Quinn, you’re being far too forward in asking Loretta to buy--.”
“I don’t mind, truly,” Loretta broke in. She gave Hannah a womanly perusal, and Quinn could tell it was favorable. “You’ll be easy to buy for. If you trust my tastes?”
“If Quinn trusts you, then I do, too.”
“Charge the bills to the ranch account, Loretta. Does Collette still have her dress shop?”
“Yes. She’s recently gotten some lovely gowns in from New York.”
“Good. She’ll honor the charge.”
“Anything else?”
“That’s it.”
She prepared to leave, but hesitated. “Elliott no longer comes to the hotel. Not like he used to. He stays mostly on the ranch, and when he does come to town, he’s with”--she halted, as if she’d divulged too much--“well, it seems he’s fallen into a bad crowd.”
Quinn pondered the news. Elliott’s absence explained why the hotel clerk didn’t recognize the Landry name or its outfit.
“Thanks for telling me, Loretta. I owe you.”
“No.” She spoke the word almost sharply. “You owe me nothing.”
“We appreciate all you’re doing to help us out,” Hannah added.
“It’s no trouble.” She unlatched the door. “I’ll have your bath drawn immediately, Hannah.”
“Hey, Loretta?” Quinn called, just as she was leaving. “You look good. Life’s been treating you pretty fair?”