To Kiss a Texan

by Jodi Thomas

  She felt like a fool. To take a horse was a small crime, but to take a saddle was a far greater wrong. She hadn’t been fair with him. He would have every right to call her an enemy from this day on. Her tribe and his would be at war. Only she didn’t have a tribe.

  The horse shied away from the uneven ground beneath the water. With one hand, Allie held the reins tighter, pulling the animal along, while she tried desperately to hold up the hem of her skirt with the other. She knew she’d have to stay in the water for several hundred feet if she were to make her trail disappear. The possibility that Wes would follow made her trip through the water necessary.

  Allie thought of the chance that Louis might still be around, but decided he would never have been able to keep up with the way they rode yesterday. If he’d gotten in sight, Wes would have seen him, for Wes was a soldier trained to watch his back.

  She plodded forward, picking her path. The bay followed fitfully. Several yards into the water, she saw the problem. The shadows of bare branches moved like thin black snakes across the shallow edges of the stream. The river’s flow seemed to give them life.

  Panic gripped Allie. The horse seemed to sense her terror. He jerked his head, pulling the reins free from her wet hand.

  Allie jumped to recapture control of the leather, but the animal had tasted freedom. With a sudden bolt, he was away, running at full gallop toward the water’s edge.

  Allie followed. Her boots seemed to weigh a ton. She splashed through the stream like a seasoned trooper. By the time she’d reached the bank, the horse had found his footing on land and was out of sight.

  Holding her chin high, she refused to mourn the loss. The horse was not hers to begin with. She could make it to the caves on foot. She didn’t need anyone or anyone’s things. She had her own belongings.

  Plopping down on the grass, Allie pulled off her wet boots and thought of all the treasures she’d hidden in her cave. Not treasures like Wes’s gold, but her treasures. A warm coat she’d made of rabbit pelts, a bed of the fine buffalo hide she’d taken from the tent when the raid started, leather dresses that would never wear out, and leggings to keep her warm in winter. She’d carved bowls last fall, after she’d gathered nuts like a squirrel, and she’d made baskets every spring when thin branches were limber.

  She leaned back into the dry grass and thought of her cave. The cold and darkness seemed a small price to pay. In every other world, she had nothing. But in her world alone, she had all she needed. Allie closed her eyes and let the sun warm her. Somehow she’d find her cave once more. Somehow she’d get back home to her own private world. Then she’d stay alone, where no one would bother her.

  She pulled the key taken from the McLains from her pocket. From now on she’d lock the world out. With her fingers clutching the key tightly, she relaxed in the warm dry grass.

  Wes found her by the water, sound asleep. When she first came into sight, he couldn’t believe his luck. He’d thought it’d take him hours to locate her, if he ever did. But it wasn’t long past noon. Her efforts to cover her trail had been good, but not nearly good enough to evade a man who’d spent four years in a war, reading signs.

  He crossed the water far enough upstream that she couldn’t hear him. Then he tied his horse, walked over to her, and sat down in the grass. For a long while, he studied her. She really was a pretty woman in a wild kind of way. Some men might find her quite attractive. She had hair that was made to be touched and eyes that looked all the way into her soul. Yes, once she was settled with her family she’d have no trouble finding a man.

  Not him, of course. She wasn’t his ideal of beauty. He’d always admired women who emphasized their looks with makeup and padding. And tall. He liked a woman he could look directly in the eyes. But for a man who liked his women plain, simply dressed, and short, Allie would stand out as prime.

  Wes smiled, realizing it didn’t really matter to him if his women had been hookers or fine ladies; he liked a lady who wore her beauty as if it were a canvas, fully colored and fully framed. He’d always been attracted to women who were realer than real. Who wore their hair higher or more brightly colored than nature intended. Whose lips were blood red and breasts were powdered white.

  He watched Allie sleeping. She was truly plain, he thought. Brown hair, small built, thin. If she’d been a fish, he’d have thrown her back for a better catch. But something about her made her not all that hard to look at. He’d thought it was her eyes and the way he could read her every thought in them. But that couldn’t have been it, because her eyes were closed now and he was still looking.

  Maybe she wasn’t pretty, exactly, he thought. There was nothing wrong with her. She just wasn’t his type of woman.

  Wes groaned. He was wasting far too much time thinking about something that didn’t matter at all. The only thing that should be on his mind was getting her to Brady, then finding the treasure as fast as he could. If Vincent was right and other men were looking for it, they might have given up trying to find the map and gone down there planning to rip every stone out of the floor. It would only be a matter of time before they found the tunnel.

  His groan woke her.

  Allie blinked and jumped at the sight of him beside her. Like an animal alert at the moment of waking, she was several feet away before he could react.

  ‘‘Now hold on.’’ Wes raised his hands. ‘‘Don’t go running off again.’’

  She moved a step back. ‘‘You’re angry?’’

  ‘‘Because you ran?’’ Wes shook his head. ‘‘You got a right to go where you want. I don’t own you, Allie.’’ He had to smile—she’d finally decided to talk to him.

  Allie watched him closely. Her eyes darted from her shoes to him. She knew she couldn’t grab them without him being able to reach her. ‘‘I lost your horse.’’

  ‘‘There are other horses.’’ He watched her closely.

  ‘‘And your saddle.’’

  ‘‘It was Adam’s saddle.’’ Wes smiled as though he’d told a joke.

  Tilting her head, she studied him. ‘‘Then why did you follow me?’’

  Wes made no effort to reach for her. ‘‘Because,’’ he began, ‘‘we have to talk.’’

  ‘‘We are talking.’’ She’d already said more to him in the past two minutes than she’d said to another human being in five years.

  ‘‘We have to talk about you.’’ Wes pulled the letter from his pocket. ‘‘I received this—’’

  ‘‘I know.’’ She might be quiet, but she was not deaf. She’d heard everything Vincent and Wes had talked about last night.

  Wes glanced up at her. ‘‘Don’t you realize this could be your family?’’

  ‘‘I have no family.’’

  ‘‘But—’’

  ‘‘They all died. I saw their bodies piled like wood to burn.’’ Allie lowered her head. She didn’t like to think about the way the camp had looked after the raid. When she brought the image to mind, she could still smell the odor of burning flesh.

  Long-buried memories flooded back. The sounds of screams and gunfire. The taste of terror in her mouth as her mother pushed her away, telling her to run for the trees. Her mother then grabbed the baby and ran for the shelter. Black smoke billowed from the barn, as if a great storm was being born there and would spread over the whole world.

  ‘‘There’s a sheriff forty miles south of here who thinks you might still have a grandmother alive.’’

  Allie remembered no grandmother.

  ‘‘You’ve got to give it a try.’’

  He said no more, but Allie heard the words as clear as if he’d spoken them aloud. I can’t go on worrying about you.

  She lifted her chin. ‘‘I’ll go,’’ she said. ‘‘But I won’t promise to stay.’’

  ‘‘Fair enough.’’ Wes stood. ‘‘I’ll go round up your horse.’’

  By nightfall, they were in the small settlement of Brady, Texas. The huddle of houses and stores could hardly be called a town. A mercantil
e, a six-table cafe with a chalkboard menu outside, a blacksmith with livery stable, a three-story hotel with a saloon in the back half of its first floor, and several houses.

  Some people didn’t consider a place a town until it had a courthouse or newspaper or bank, but Wes always thought the difference lay in the presence of a barbershop. Once a place had a shop, he knew folks were settling in. His reasoning wasn’t based on the fact that the barbershop was a meeting place to exchange information, as well as take a bath, get a shave, or have a tooth pulled. He’d decided, by observation, that when men start shaving regularly, it’s usually due to females. And once women are settled into a place, it’s only a matter of time before there are schools and churches, banks and newspapers. A town.

  Brady hadn’t yet become a town, but from the looks of things, it was only a matter of time.

  If he’d been alone, Wes would have stayed with the horses in the livery for a quarter, but he couldn’t do that with Allie along. The little money he’d picked up from a stash he always left at Adam’s would be gone fast with hotel prices and double meals.

  He paid the two bits for the horses’ care and walked across the street to the hotel with Allie at his heels. She hid behind him as he ordered a room and asked to have a bath brought up.

  The hotel owner told him the only room fit for a lady was on the third floor and, due to its size, cost twice as much as any of the others.

  Wes groaned and took the room. When he climbed the stairs, he was relieved to find the accommodations much nicer than expected.

  ‘‘Not bad. At least we’ll be comfortable tonight.’’ He tossed his saddlebag on the nearest of two small beds and turned to face Allie.

  She stood just inside the doorway, her face ghostly white. Her hands knotted the fabric of her dress on either side.

  ‘‘What is it?’’ Wes reached out to touch her shoulder.

  Allie jerked away, backing as far as she could into the corner.

  ‘‘Allie, talk to me.’’ He knew if he took a step toward her, he’d only frighten her more. She was in that private hell of hers where everything was threatening and everyone was an enemy.

  Her huge blue eyes stared at him with a terror in them so deep he wasn’t sure it wouldn’t kill her.

  Wes glanced around the room. There was nothing frightening. The room was almost totally white, from bed covers to curtains. The floors had been scrubbed recently, and the water in the pitcher looked fresh. Even the chamber pot beneath the first bed looked to have been cleaned.

  Wes backed toward the windows and sat down in the room’s only chair, a rocker made with most of the bark left on the wood. ‘‘I’m no good at this,’’ he mumbled to himself.

  He leaned back and rested his head, closing his eyes, blocking out her suffering. ‘‘Allie, I’m a hard man who’s spent most of my life fighting one way or the other. You need a man like Daniel with faith enough to help you or Adam with his soft, easy way of healing.’’

  He heard the movement of her dress and the slight swish of a blade clearing leather. She’d drawn her knife. After all the nights they’d spent together, she still didn’t trust him. Did she think he’d traveled over half of Texas, waiting until he reached this hotel, to kill her?

  Wes tried again. ‘‘Allie, there is nothing to be afraid of here. We’re just in a hotel. There’s even a lock on the door, which is more than I can say for a few of the hotels I’ve been in since coming to Texas.’’

  He folded his hands. ‘‘How about I leave you to take your bath? The desk clerk downstairs said I could probably find the sheriff who sent me the letter in the saloon.’’

  She didn’t move or answer him. He really didn’t expect her to.

  A maid tapped on the door then entered with two pails of water. The woman was clean and neatly dressed, but there was a hardness about her. A hatred of life that ran bone deep. A boy of about twelve followed with a small hip tub. She glanced from Allie to Wes, but she’d seen far too much to comment.

  The boy set the tub down with a thud. Before the noise stopped echoing around the room, the woman backhanded him hard. He didn’t react, not a sound, as he turned and left the room. The woman followed him out without saying anything to Wes or Allie.

  Wes glanced at Allie and saw a reaction to the cruelty in her eyes. He gave her time to speak, but, as always, she didn’t say a word.

  ‘‘Well.’’ Wes stood, not knowing how to comfort her. ‘‘I’ll leave you. Enjoy your . . .’’

  The sudden panic in her eyes made him forget to finish his sentence.

  ‘‘D-don’t go!’’ she stammered.

  ‘‘But . . .’’ Wes watched her closely, realizing her terror was not aimed at him. ‘‘Do you want to go with me to meet the sheriff? Allie, what frightens you so?’’

  She gulped down her fear. ‘‘I hate hotels.’’

  Wes took a deep breath and smiled. Fear of hotels seemed a much smaller problem than the thought that she might have suddenly gone insane and planned to kill him in his sleep. He relaxed. At least he wasn’t the one who sparked her fears.

  ‘‘You’ve nothing to fear here. I’ll lock you in.’’

  He’d said the wrong thing. She was backing away again. It took Wes a moment to realize what he’d said.

  ‘‘No, I didn’t mean what you think. I only meant we can lock the door so that no one will disturb you while you bathe.’’

  ‘‘No.’’ Allie shook her head violently, making her mass of hair fly around her. ‘‘I will not stay here. I hate this place.’’

  Wes tried to reason. ‘‘But you love taking a bath. How about you take a bath and I’ll wait for you? When you’re finished, we’ll go down and look for the sheriff together.’’

  Allie nodded.

  Wes moved toward the door. ‘‘I’ll be right outside.’’

  She darted, beating him to the opening. ‘‘No! Stay. I don’t want to be in this place alone.’’

  Wes didn’t understand, but he was too tired to argue. He pulled the rocker to face the window and sat down with his back to the tub. ‘‘Let me know when you’re finished.’’

  To his surprise, he heard her knife slip back into her boot. He pulled the last thin cigar from the silver box in his breast pocket and lit it.

  As he rocked back and forth, he thought he’d had some crazy things happen to him in his lifetime, but being forced at knifepoint to stay in a hotel room while a woman takes a bath had never been one of them. Until now.

  He leaned back as he took a long draw on his last cigar, enjoying the sounds of her bathing just behind him.

  Allie watched his back as she removed her clothes. He had been right about the bath. If she took a bath every day for the rest of her life, she’d never feel clean enough. But he’d been wrong to come to the hotel. Allie couldn’t tell him, but she knew about hotels. They were places of evil where she’d been locked in a room. Deep into the night, the devil walked the hallways of hotels.

  When the preacher had locked her up, she’d learned to wait in the darkness. Between midnight and dawn, the devil would unlock her door. She’d fight for as long as she could, then she’d try to numb her mind to what he did. But even through the numbness, she’d known she’d gone to hell and back with him in the blackness. At dawn, she’d wake bruised and alone. The preacher would come to get her, angry, he said, because the devil visited her. Sometimes he’d be in a hurry and only rant and rave about how evil she was, but other times, he’d try to help her by whipping the evil out of her.

  Allie remembered days passing when she’d sleep in the cage, knowing that as soon as they reached the next town there would be another hotel and another visit.

  Wes must not know of the evil of this place, or he wouldn’t have walked in without his guns drawn. Maybe if he were with her, the devil wouldn’t come. She watched his back as she slipped into the water and washed. He was a strange man, but one thing she knew, he wasn’t evil.

  As soon as she was scrubbed, she pulled her cl
othes back on and moved to stand beside him.

  ‘‘You ready?’’ he asked in a voice that told her he’d almost fallen asleep in the chair.

  She nodded.

  He stood slowly and pulled the thin ribbon used to tie back the curtains from the window.

  ‘‘I thought I’d borrow this,’’ he said smiling, ‘‘to tie back your hair. We can’t very well go downstairs with it flying about.’’

  Allie slid her hand to her knife but didn’t pull it from her boot as he looped the lace beneath her hair and tied it.

  ‘‘There.’’ He stepped back and seemed pleased with his work. ‘‘Shall we go downstairs?’’

  He offered his hand.

  Allie didn’t take it but let him guide her out of the room and down the stairs.

  The lobby was empty except for the clerk behind the desk. He glanced up at Wes. ‘‘That old sheriff you’re looking for is in the saloon.’’

  Wes thanked him with a casual salute.

  ‘‘If you want any supper, you’ll have to order it in there. Nowhere else to get food this late.’’ The clerk returned to his reading, not expecting an answer to his comments.

  Wes slowly reached for Allie’s hand and placed it on his arm. ‘‘Shall we?’’ he asked as though they were a normal couple.

  As always, she didn’t answer.

  When they entered the saloon, Allie moved a little closer to Wes. He crossed to a lone man sitting at the back of an almost empty room.

  ‘‘Sheriff Hardy?’’ Wes asked as Allie peeked around him to see the old man.

  Hardy ignored Wes’s outstretched hand as he stood slowly, staring wide-eyed at Allie.

  ‘‘Victoria,’’ he whispered. His eyes brimmed with tears. For a moment, he was somewhere far deep into the past and not with them. ‘‘Victoria,’’ he said again, with a love and a sorrow too great to fathom.

  TWELVE

  ALLIE WATCHED THE OLD MAN CAREFULLY. Gray hair hung past his collar, and his eyes were the color of the whiskey he drank. He raised a hand, weathered with age, and lightly brushed her cheek as reality of the present straightened his stance.‘‘I’m sorry.’’ He tried to pull his emotions back into a body and mind too fragile to hold them in check. ‘‘There for a moment I thought I was looking at a woman I knew fifty years ago. You’re her spittin’ image, girl.’’