by Jill Gregory
As soon as Lila saw her boss, she stood and moved reluctantly away.
“Evenin’, Texas.” Meg sat down opposite him at the little table.
“Howdy, Meg. Business is pretty slow tonight, isn’t it?”
“Yep. Most everyone in town is headin’ out to the Circle H for that grand fiesta. I take it you’re not invited, honey.” She chuckled, her bright blue eyes fixed upon his impassive countenance.
“You take it right,” he said with his cool, careless drawl, but there was a tautness to his features not lost to Meg’s sharp eyes.
She didn’t comment upon it, though. Instead she leaned forward on her elbows to speak in a low tone.
“Texas, there’s something I’ve got to tell you.” The sapphires at her throat winked brightly as she moved her chair closer to his.
“Do you remember asking me to keep a lookout for that Rusty Jessup hombre, who used to be foreman at the Hill ranch? And that fella named Zeke Murdock? Well, I don’t know for sure, but a man passin’ through town today mentioned something that made me sit up and take notice. And I got a feeling those two hombres are in Tucson right now.”
Logan’s eyes bored into her face. “Go on, Meg.”
“The man mentioned Jessup by name,” she continued. “But I’m not as sure about that other fella, Murdock. The description I got though sounded like the man you told me about—a big, brawny blond hombre with eyes that don’t miss nothin’. The man said they’d both ridden into town a few days ago and were all set for a big poker game tonight with pretty high stakes, according to this cowboy.”
“What else?” Logan demanded.
“He said the two of ‘em were flashin’ money all over town, until a gambler from New Orleans invited them to the card table. The fella who was in here couldn’t stop talkin’ about it, since it seems everyone was going to gather around and watch a mighty high-powered game. But he was off to New Mexico on business that wouldn’t wait, otherwise he said he’d have stayed to see the show himself.”
She paused, regarding the man beside her speculatively. “What do you think, honey? I heard him mention Jessup’s handle clear as a church bell, and it sure sounds like the other man was that Murdock fella. What are you goin’ to do?”
“What do you think?” Logan’s mouth was grim as he shoved back his chair and stood.
“Reckon I’ll be back in a day or so, Meg. It shouldn’t take long to track down those hombres and finish my business with them.”
The grim set of his face made several men who happened to glance in his direction at that moment feel a deathly chill creep down their spines. They were glad that Texas Jim Logan wasn’t staring at them with that hard, steely expression in his eyes.
Watching nervously, while pretending not to notice, they saw him turn on his heel and cross the saloon, his dark sombrero shadowing his face. Inexplicable relief rushed through them when he shouldered his way past the saloon door and out into the newly fallen dusk.
With audibly exhaled breath, they turned back to their bourbon and their cards, feeling as if the devil himself had passed them by, heading in search of other prey.
Meg watched him leave with a slow smile curving her lips.
For the second time that evening, she mounted the steps to the landing above. At the end of the hall was her suite of rooms, where she often did private entertaining. Jim Logan himself had spent some pleasurable hours here in the first few weeks after he’d come to town.
Her rooms were large and comfortable, furnished with surprising, if somewhat gaudy, elegance. At this moment they were occupied by a guest, and as Meg quietly opened the entry door and stepped inside, she glanced with swift amusement at the face of the man who stared back at her like a bear cub awaiting his mother’s return—half-frightened, half-dangerous.
She threw back her head and gave a great burst of laughter.
“He’s gone,” she announced, after she’d regained control of her amusement. “And he’ll meet up with Murdock and Jessup all right—just a mite sooner than he expects.”
The man in the room grinned in relief, while Meg sauntered forward and lifted the much-read sheet of writing paper from the gilt-edged marble table near her red velvet settee.
She waved the letter gaily in the air.
“In just a few short hours, honey, we’ll have Miss Bryony Hill right where we want her. And if we can’t settle this little problem once and for all before the sun sets tomorrow night, then I’ll be damned if I don’t run off and join a convent somewheres!” She laughed long and hard as the man’s black hooded eyes gleamed with satisfaction.
Excitement began to pound in Matt Richards’s chest.
Meg was right. Tomorrow would mark the end of all their problems.
Once and for all they would deal with the troublesome Miss Hill. And this time, there would be no rescuer for that charming little black-haired beauty.
This time they would have her all to themselves.
Chapter Twenty-Three
It was quiet in Bryony’s room.
She had dimmed the light in preparation before leaving the small, private sanctuary of her own quarters and joining the festivities underway downstairs. Standing alone in the soft starlight beaming in through the open window, she could hear as if from a great distance the laughter and gaiety below, the muted voices of those guests who had already arrived for a night of merriment. The strolling musicians strummed their guitars as they wandered through the lantern-lit courtyard, serenading the ladies and filling the air with sweet, melancholy strains.
Every now and again, above the dreamy music and the laughter, she could hear a man raise his voice to announce a toast, joined by a chorus of genial voices. She could imagine the extra servants she’d engaged bustling about under Rosita’s brisk orders, and she could picture the bright, festive appearance of the ranch house, with everything cleaned and polished to a high gloss.
Bryony still didn’t know how she and Rosita had managed to ready everything in time, but somehow they had, and Bryony knew that it was time now for her to go downstairs, to smile and mingle and behave as if all was right with her world. It would be the hardest thing she’d ever done.
At least, she reflected as she smoothed her gown, she looked well enough. Her emerald green satin dress, worn off the shoulders, shimmered enticingly in the starlight touching the room, emphasizing her creamy shoulders and full, firm breasts, and accenting her slender waist as the heavy satin fell in soft, billowing folds to the floor.
Emeralds that had belonged to her mother gleamed at her throat and upon her ears, and her black hair was dressed in a fetching cluster of soft ringlets that framed her face, bringing out the brilliance of her emerald eyes, according to Rosita—and setting off her delicately sculptured features.
At the head of the staircase though, she paused, gazing down at the scene below. Matthew Richards had just entered the ranch house. He was handing his hat to Rosita, who returned his cordial greeting with a stony nod. From Bryony’s position on the landing above, she could see the elegance of his fine dark suit, the ruffles on his shirt, the neat arrangement of his black string tie. His black hair was carefully brushed, and the luster on his leather boots was impressive.
He looked every bit the handsome, well-to-do cattleman, the gentleman most admired in this rough, frontier town. A shiver went through her.
And suddenly, he glanced upward as if sensing her presence, and saw her poised at the head of the staircase. A broad smile broke across his face. He moved to the foot of the staircase, resting one arm upon the railing.
“Bryony! You look magnificent.” Though the words were spoken with deep admiration, even from that distance Bryony could see the gleam in his dark, hooded eyes.
A murderer’s eyes.
For a moment, staring into them, fear threatened to consume her. She wanted to turn and flee back to her room. But the impulse passed quickly as she took in the smugness about Matt Richards’s smiling mouth, and the hidden smirk behind his e
yes.
And at that moment, she had a mental picture of Johnny Blake’s grave and its cold, lonely headstone.
Something tightened inside her. Hatred entered her heart and it gave her unexpected strength. She found herself smiling at him, descending the stairs as if he was the man of her dreams.
“Matt, how good to see you.” She raised glowing eyes to his face. “Isn’t it awful of me to be late for my own party? I do hope my guests will forgive me.”
“How could they not?” Gallantly, he took her arm to escort her into the parlor, which was already crowded with guests. “It would be impossible for anyone to be angry with a woman who looks as enchanting as you do tonight. I mean that, Bryony.”
Oh, do you? she thought, smiling sweetly up at him.
“Thank you, Matt. You always seem to know just the right thing to say.”
To her relief, Roger Davenport appeared at that moment and caught her arm possessively.
“Bryony, you look like a goddess! But I’m not surprised in the least. You’re always beautiful, my darling.”
“Roger, have you met my dear friend, Matt Richards? Matt, I’d like to present Roger Davenport of St. Louis.”
Roger glowered at Matt as though he was his rival, but Matt Richards behaved genially to the easterner. “It’s a pleasure, Mr. Davenport. Is this your first trip west?”
The men began to talk, exchanging trivialities, and giving Bryony time to think.
She was busy formulating a small plan for her own protection. Roger was leaving on the stagecoach in the morning, and she’d already explained to him, as gently as possible, that she wouldn’t be marrying him—not under any circumstances. As usual, he’d refused to take her at her word, and had been persistently coaxing her to change her mind throughout his brief visit.
Well, for tonight, she decided, perhaps she’d pretend that there was a possibility of her joining him in San Francisco.
She hated to mislead Roger, but Matt Richards would be far less likely to try something desperate if he believed she might leave Arizona in the near future.
So let him think my feelings for Roger go far deeper than they actually do, she told herself. Let him be lulled into a false sense of security and hope.
All she wanted was to make very sure that he made no desperate moves against her before she had a chance to meet with Jim in the morning.
With this plan in mind, she began to flirt outrageously with Roger, noticing with deft glances from beneath her eyelashes that Matt was watching most interestedly. After a short time, he excused himself from her side, and she and Roger were surrounded by other guests.
Bryony behaved with all the gaiety and vivacity she could muster, for all appearances looking as if she didn’t have a care in the world other than to see that her guests enjoyed themselves. Inwardly though, her nerves were taut, and the strain built as the evening progressed.
It was shortly before supper was to be served that Annie Blake and her father arrived. Their timing was perfect.
Buck Monroe had just emerged from the courtyard to pass through the candlelit dining hall and into the parlor. Clad in a bright plaid shirt and new trousers, with his fancily stitched boots gleaming almost as brightly as his slicked-down blond hair, Buck looked even more handsome than usual. But as Annie Blake appeared on the parlor’s threshold, her arm entwined with her father’s, the self-assured smile faded from his face.
Like everyone else in the room, he stared incredulously at the slim young woman in the hallway.
Bryony, watching, felt her first real pleasure of the night. Annie was beautiful, far more beautiful than even she would have expected. The rose silk gown gracefully displayed the full, rounded curves of her tall figure, which had always before been disguised by drab, baggy work clothes. Now the woman beneath had been revealed.
The rich color of the gown seemed to make her large hazel eyes glow with warmth. Her smooth chestnut hair, dressed simply in soft curls, tumbled prettily from a smooth topknot on her head.
The plain tomboy was gone, replaced by a lovely young woman who looked soft and pretty. She had sparkling eyes and wore a tremulous smile that was at once shy and newly proud.
The moment of startled silence broke abruptly as Bryony hurried forward to draw Annie and her father into the room.
She felt Annie’s arm tremble slightly.
“You’re breathtaking!” Bryony whispered to her, a hint of laughter in her voice. “Buck looks as if he’s about to faint at any moment. Mr. Blake, your daughter will be the belle of the ball tonight. Don’t you agree?”
Sam’s gaunt, weather-beaten old face crinkled into a grin. His gray mustache twitched. “I shore do, ma’am. I never saw Annie look so purty before—she reminds me real powerful of her ma, when I first laid eyes on her all those years ago.”
Suddenly they were interrupted by Captain Wayne Reynolds, a pleasant-looking young cavalry officer who’d reacted more quickly than Winchester’s cowboys to the sight of the charming new arrival. He bowed over Annie’s hand and spoke in a soft, eager tone.
“Miss Blake, what a pleasure it is to see you tonight. You look positively dazzling.”
Annie’s eyes widened. She’d noticed the young captain in town on occasion; but he’d never even glanced in her direction.
“Th... thank you, Captain,” she stammered, a most becoming blush tinting her cheeks. “It’s... real nice to see you, too.”
“May I bring you a glass of punch, ma’am, or some other refreshment?”
Oh, yes, the young captain’s smile was most attractive, Bryony noticed approvingly.
“Please, tell me how I may serve you,” the captain said with easy gallantry.
“For one thing, you can let go of her hand!”
The deep growling voice came from behind the little group. Startled, Captain Reynolds turned to find himself staring into Monroe’s belligerent face.
“Stop making a damned fool out of yourself, Reynolds,” Buck ordered. “I’m shore Annie don’t care nothin’ about hearing a lot of flowery talk from you or anyone else. Isn’t that right, Annie?”
Bryony held her breath as the cavalry officer frowned contemptuously at Buck, and Annie turned large, astonished eyes on him. Sam Blake, his gray eyes flashing angrily, seemed about to make a stinging retort, but to everyone’s surprise, Annie spoke first.
“No, Buck,” she replied, meeting his incredulous gaze with a defiantly uplifted chin. “Every girl likes to hear pretty compliments from a man. I sure do. And I thank Captain Reynolds very much for his... his courtesy!”
“Well, I’ll be a dog-eared Gila monster!” Buck exclaimed, running his fingers through his thick blond hair in a gesture that destroyed the smooth, slicked-down appearance he’d taken great pains to achieve. “You, of all women, putting on fancy airs! I never thought I’d see the day!”
There was disgust and anger in his voice, but Annie was unflustered.
“You know something, Buck? Neither did I.” Then she turned sweetly to Captain Reynolds who stood, grinning, beside her.
“I believe I would like a glass of punch, Captain Reynolds.”
“Wayne, please.” With a smile, he offered his arm and without a backward glance, they strolled across the parlor to the linen-draped table where refreshments had been laid out.
As they crossed the room, a knot of people surrounded Annie, complimenting her on her dress, on her hair, and fussing over the change in her. Captain Reynolds had a difficult time, since many of those competing for her attention were his fellow cavalry officers and the even more aggressive local cowhands, who showered Annie with the kind of attention guaranteed to make any girl blush.
Annie was amazed at the stir she was creating. For the first time in her life, she felt young and happy and alive, and with every woman’s instinct she possessed, she knew without having to look that Buck Monroe was watching every move she made.
He was indeed. After she walked off with Captain Reynolds, Buck glared after her in shock, wh
ile Bryony smiled delightedly.
Good for Annie, she thought. Annie had handled the situation as though she’d been collecting suitors for years, and she’d certainly given Buck a much deserved set-down. If tonight didn’t teach him not to take her for granted, nothing would.
Bravo, Annie.
Her lips curving mischievously, Bryony ignored Buck and turned her attention to Annie’s father. Tucking her arm in Sam Blake’s, she led him across the room.
“Mr. Blake, I believe Judge Hamilton has been wishing to speak with you. He was out in the courtyard with Frank and Edna Billings the last time I spotted him, so why don’t we look for him there?”
“Shore, Miss Hill. I reckon I could use some fresh air. This here parlor is a mite crowded for my tastes,” he remarked pointedly, shooting a fiery look at Buck, after which he and Bryony sauntered off together.
Buck stood alone in the hubbub of guests, glowering at Annie Blake.
His jaw clenched in frustration as he studied her laughing hazel eyes, and the soft thick glossiness of her hair. He couldn’t tear his gaze from her as he took in the lush curves of her figure, stunned that until tonight he’d never much even noticed her existence.
But tonight, with that damned dress hugging every beautiful curve of her body, he couldn’t do anything but stare, his mouth dry, his heart beating faster than it did when he rode hell for leather across the prairie.
Cursing beneath his breath, he stomped out of the room, disgusted by the frivolous spectacle in the parlor.
Soon the supper was served, and Buck had ample opportunity to take his mind off his troubles by indulging in the veritable feast that had been prepared.
There were corn tortillas with chile sauce, oyster patties, tamale pies stuffed with chicken and tomatoes and garlic, a saddle of venison served with currant jelly, roasted wild turkey and plum stuffing—and a huge platter of thick, juicy beef, along with bowlfuls of delicious fried black beans.