“Where are we going?”
“Denver, first thing in the morning. Now that I’ve shut off Dillon’s funds, he’ll have no choice but to go to San Francisco. I figure he’ll head to Denver to take the train. Just to make sure he goes after his money, I intend to apply a little more pressure.”
“How?” They’d climbed the stairs to their rooms, and Abby followed Max into his. She really didn’t want to be alone. Thoughts of Star made her melancholy.
She watched him put on his blond wig and gambler’s vest to transform himself into Jeffery Markham. Now that she knew his disguises, it was easy to see past them and recognize Max. But as he’d said once, people see what they want to see. If Dillon wasn’t looking for Max, or Reverend Fishbone, he wouldn’t see that Jeffery Markham was the same person.
“Max?”
He stopped pouring water into the basin. She looked at him across the width of the hotel room, longing for him to hold her tight and chase away the images of Star’s battered face. Besides, if Dillon was the one responsible, she worried about Max facing him.
As though he read her thoughts, he came to her, wrapping his arms around her and holding her close. “I’m so sorry you’re right in the middle of this, angel.” He kissed the top of her head. “Had I only known…”
“It’s not your fault. I wanted to come with you.” She looked into his wonderful blue eyes. “I think, in fact, that I was the one who made you bring me.”
“Well, I’m still taking you home tomorrow. But first, I want to make sure Dillon knows we’re on to him. I want him running for his life.”
“Please be careful.”
He grinned at her. “You know I will. I have something very special to do when this mess is over.” He kissed the tip of her nose, but instead of letting go, he tightened his grip to bring her against his chest, and his mouth captured hers. His tongue caressed the seam of her lips, enticing her to open for him.
As always when he touched her, Abby’s body began to throb. Her legs felt weak and she grabbed the lapels of his coat, holding on for dear life. He nibbled at her lips before kissing a path to her ear. She pushed closer, aching for what only Max could do to her.
“I am beyond wanting when it comes to you,” he whispered raggedly.
Abby took his head in both hands and returned his kiss, begging him without words. He turned, pushing her against the closed door. He bunched up her skirts and skimmed his hand up her leg.
She gasped when his warm fingers slid between the slit in her pantalets to touch her intimately. He cupped her, one finger sliding deep to send her plunging into a sea of sensation. It was wilder and more intense than ever before, and she didn’t want to return to reality.
Max cradled the back of her head with his palm, bringing her head to his shoulder. “Angel.” His voice was still ragged with passion.
She felt his hand tremble as he rubbed her back.
“We can’t keep doing this,” he whispered. “One day we’ll go too far—I’ll lose control.”
Tension still radiated from his body and the hard length of him pressed against her pelvis. “Max, teach me the rest.”
His groan vibrated through his chest. He caressed her cheek, brushing her hair back and cupping her face so her gaze caught his. Stormy blue eyes held a wealth of intent, but he shook his head.
“Not here. Not in some seedy hotel in the middle of nowhere, and not without—” Max stopped.
“When, Max?”
He brushed his lips across hers in a kiss so soft Abby would have thought she imagined it if not for her eyes being open. Once, twice. Her hands tightened on his wrists.
“When the time is right.”
Chapter Fourteen
Max left her thinking about his cryptic words. As far as she was concerned, the time was right now, regardless of Dillon or anyone else. But since one of the things she loved about Max was his sense of justice and commitment, she couldn’t fault him for trying to find Monty and recapture the family fortunes before he could commit to her.
Toward that end, she started packing. When she folded her last dress, a scrap of paper fluttered to the floor. Picking it up, she saw directions scribbled in pencil, and remembered taking it out of Star’s hand.
Abby wondered if the directions were to an address here in Central City. She grabbed her reticule and left the room. If it was a clue of some sort, she needed to tell Max. He hadn’t left that long ago. She hurried out onto the boardwalk in front of the hotel, and saw him walking toward the lower end of Pine Street.
He was too far away to hear her call him. She hastened after him, keeping him in sight as he turned toward the trees.
Abby skirted a hedge of trees and came around a bend in the dirt lane. She turned just in time to see Max walk behind a tumbledown shack. She was about to call to him when Dillon stepped from the trees ahead of her. Before she had time to shout a warning, he fired his pistol.
“Max!” The minute she screamed, Dillon swung around and pointed his gun at her. Even from a distance, Abby recognized the evil lurking in his eyes and the sinister smile on his face.
“Well, well, well, look who we have here.” He holstered his gun and began sauntering toward her.
Abby shook and tears rolled down her cheeks. She heard Max groan, but he wasn’t moving and she didn’t know how badly he was hurt. If Dillon caught her, he would surely kill her, too.
Trembling, she dug in her reticule, fingers closing around her derringer. Max never had given her the lessons he promised, but he’d loaded the weapon and she knew how to fire it. Now, she pulled it from her bag and leveled her arm, pointing the small gun at Dillon.
“I’ll shoot!”
“Have you ever shot a man, sweetheart?” Dillon laughed. “I’ll bet you don’t even step on bugs.”
As he stalked her, she backed up until she bumped into a tree. Willing her voice to quit trembling, she said, “I swear I’ll shoot.”
“Yeah, and I’m going to heaven when I die.” Dillon grabbed the gun from her hand, latched onto her arm and dragged her back to where Max had fallen.
Abby hated herself for not being able to shoot him. Now, she fell to her knees, placing a shaking hand on Max’s chest to feel a faint heartbeat. His breathing rasped in his throat, but he lay in the dirt unconscious.
She flung herself at Dillon, catching him by surprise when she pounded on his chest.
“You’ve killed him, damn you!” she screamed, punching him in the eye and scratching his face with her nails before he backhanded her.
“Bitch!”
Abby fell to the ground, her cheek burning.
“He’s been following me since Chicago. And now you. Why?” He grabbed her and twisted her arms behind her back, tying her wrists together. He shoved her down beside Max, then looped another rope around her booted ankles, cinching it so tight she yelped in pain.
“Why?” he asked again.
Abby narrowed her gaze, hoping to convey how much she thoroughly hated him. “You’re a liar and a cheat and a thief and a murderer. Is that enough?”
He had the audacity to grin. “And here I thought you didn’t like me.” He slid his hand up her leg. “It’s too bad I can’t stay around and show you my other fine qualities.” He squeezed her knee.
She kicked with both feet, connecting with his shin and throwing him off balance. He caught himself and stood, grabbing a handful of her hair and one arm and dragging her toward the dilapidated building. She gritted her teeth against the pain.
When he roughly shoved her through the doorway, she fell, hitting her shoulder on a rock. This time she couldn’t prevent the cry that escaped. She watched him drag Max in after her and dump him in the dirt.
“Since the two of you are so cozy, you can just stay that way forever,” he sneered.
“Max will hunt you down and kill you,” she hissed.
Dillon stepped close and she willed herself not to show fear. He bent low, his whiskey breath hot against her face. “He does
n’t look like he’s going anywhere. And neither are you.” With that, he jerked the pocket watch she wore, snapping the chain from around her neck, and walked out the doorway.
The minute he left, Abby scooted across the dirt floor to Max’s side.
“Max, can you hear me? Please wake up.” He only groaned when she nudged him.
She squirmed upward until her hip was against Max’s shoulder and her legs against his arm. Blood still oozed from his shoulder. Although it didn’t seem to be flowing quite as hard, he’d probably already lost more than he should.
“Max.” She bumped him again.
“Max?” He groggily repeated the name, but then his head rolled to the side.
She heard noises outside. She turned her head in an effort to see. Dillon crossed in front of the door, a bundle of sticks in his arms. She hoped he wasn’t camping at the shack, or she would never be able to get loose and tend Max’s wounds.
“So long, bitch. Too bad we’ll never get to finish that poker game.” He tossed a match to the side then closed the rickety door.
It took her exactly ten seconds to realize what he’d been doing with the limbs, another ten seconds for panic to swell her chest until she thought she would cry. Max groaned beside her. Now wasn’t the time to break down. She drew a steadying breath and decided then and there if she was ever going to be a self-sufficient woman, now was the time to start, or there would never be a tomorrow.
This time when she bumped against Max with her hip, his eyelids fluttered and he looked at her, dazed. “Sarah?”
“Who is—never mind. You’ve got to get my knife and cut these ropes.”
“Knife?” He appeared totally disoriented. She only hoped he would stay conscious long enough for her to get loose.
She smelled the smoke.
“Oh, God.” She managed to kick both feet into the air, causing her skirt to drop away from her legs.
“Get the knife from my sheath.” Luckily she was lying on his good side, and he haltingly slid the knife free. She rolled away from him onto her stomach.
“Quick. I don’t know how close Dillon set that fire, but if this shed starts burning, it won’t last two minutes.”
He roused enough to saw at the ropes binding her wrists. The smoke wafted inside the tiny building in thick curls. They both began to cough. She felt the rope give, and Max fell heavily against her back.
She had to struggle from under him, for unconscious he was dead weight. When she sat and reached for her knife to cut the bindings on her legs, she saw flames licking the dry wood of one wall.
“Hurry,” she mumbled to herself, struggling to stand. She sheathed the knife and reached for Max.
“Wake up, we have to get out of here.” He didn’t move. She felt a moment of panic and reached for his throat. Her fingers found a faint pulse, but he was also bleeding again.
Luckily the door that Dillon had swung shut to lock them in was as rotten as the rest of the wood that made up the shack. She had to kick it only twice before she managed to shove it open. By then the smoke was thick, and flames had engulfed the back two walls.
She reached for Max to drag him out, praying she had the strength to move him. She grabbed the collar of his shirt, digging in her heels. She pulled backward with all her might, scooting him just inches.
“Augh!” His eyes popped open and he glanced wildly around. Abby came into his line of vision. He started to swing his good arm, stopping short of clobbering her on the side of the head.
“What?” he asked in confusion.
“I really don’t have time to explain right now. Lean on me.” Abby placed his good arm around her shoulders and helped him to his feet. Together they stumbled from the door as the rest of the shack went up in flames.
She moved him away from the heat of the fire before his legs gave way and they tumbled to the ground. This time he managed not to land on top of her. She rolled him over, noticing fresh blood soaking through his shirt.
She ripped the hem of her petticoat and used it to stop the flow of blood. He was pale as death.
She closed her eyes. “Please, God, don’t let him die.”
“You have me dead and buried already?” He coughed, his voice sounding strange from the smoke.
“You’re alive.” She choked on the words, hugging him.
“Ah, Sarah, you always were a tenderhearted miss.”
He finally opened his eyes and looked at her.
“Who are you?”
“Who is Sarah?”
“My wife.”
His answer hit her like a blow to the chest, shattering her heart. Of all the things he might have said, she would never have imagined that. Oh, how he must have laughed when she confessed that she loved him. Her heartache turned to anger.
She punched him with all her might, wincing when her small fist contacted hard muscle.
“What was that for?”
“You know what for.” Fuming and heartsick, she dug into her reticule and pulled out the small flask she carried. Then she tore another piece of cotton petticoat. She hated him, but wouldn’t let him bleed to death. He touched her arm, and she flinched.
“Abby?”
She refused to meet his gaze. Hands shaking, she uncorked the flask. Without preamble, she poured some of the brandy onto his wound to cleanse it and felt somewhat vindicated when he yelped.
Hissing, he sucked in his breath. With his good arm he reached over and grabbed her wrist before she did it again.
“Damn, woman!”
“Oh, Max, how could you? You kissed me and touched—”
He burst out laughing.
Her jaw dropped in astonishment. She hated him.
“No, no, don’t,” he gasped when she started to swing at him. He struggled to sit, groaning in the process. Abby didn’t help him at all.
“You don’t know, do you?” he asked.
Abby narrowed her eyes, fed up with him. “Know what?”
“I’m not Max. I’m Montgomery Alexander Grant, Max’s brother.”
Max watched Dillon hurry away on the opposite side of the street. He kept glancing over his shoulder. Max was happy to see his nervous behavior. Nervous men made mistakes. Max had put a freeze on Dillon’s assets, but he still needed to get to the San Francisco bank. He wanted to make sure there wasn’t an inside man who would let Dillon take the funds anyway.
Dillon exited the saloon with saddlebags in hand and turned toward the livery. Max followed at a distance. As soon as the man left, Max would collect Abby and they would take a different route back to Denver. He hadn’t seen Monty and hoped his brother was already ahead of them on the trail.
He was close enough to the livery doors that when Dillon rode out, he noticed he had a black eye and several red welts across his cheek. He saw him take a watch from his pocket, open it, then snap the cover closed and tuck it back in his vest. Max turned to go when realization hit him.
Dillon didn’t wear a pocket watch.
“What have you done with her?” Max shouted.
Dillon jerked the reins, forcing his horse in a tight circle. His eyes widened in surprise when he saw Max standing there.
“I don’t know how you got loose. I hoped you burned in hell with her!” He yelled.
Max grabbed at Dillon, but he slashed at him with the trailing ends of the reins, then turned and raced away, dirt flying beneath the horse’s hooves.
Max knew a moment of indecision as he watched Dillon. He should go after him, but for the moment, was relieved that the man was gone.
“Fire!” someone yelled, and several of the old timers hurried out of the saloon doors.
“Looks like it’s coming from the old James mine,” said one.
“Yeah, well if it is, ain’t no loss. Nobody lives in that old rickety shack anyhow.”
Max looked toward the column of smoke and recalled Dillon’s words: I hoped you burned in hell with her. He took off on a run.
* * *
Abby finished tying of
f Monty’s bandage. Luckily the bullet had gone clear through his shoulder, hitting the flesh instead of the bone. While she worked, Monty explained how he knew who she was. From his pauses, she felt he was leaving out information.
“I’m still mad at him,” she said when he finished.
He grinned despite the pain he was in. It was Max’s grin, the one that made his blue eyes twinkle and the cleft in his chin deepen. And yet now that she had time to notice, there were nuances of difference between the two brothers.
“Don’t blame Max,” Monty said. “He has a very hard time letting anyone close, and from what I gather, you’ve managed to breach his armor. That in itself is a miracle, and he just needs to get used to it.” He leaned back against the tree. “Besides, Max usually doesn’t talk about his family. In his line of work, he thinks he’s protecting us that way. Even though he’s only minutes older than me, he feels he must take on all that responsibility.”
“He’s told me a little about you and the Blue Jays,” Abby replied. “He just neglected to tell me you were twins.” Abby’s heart had calmed, and she longed to see Max so she could kiss him and then give him a good lecture. Why he thought he had to solve all the world’s problems was beyond her understanding.
“Speak of the devil,” Monty said, inclining his head.
Abby swiveled, afraid she would see Dillon coming back for them. Instead, a familiar figure was trotting along the dirt path.
“Max!” She gathered her skirts and ran to meet him. She flung her arms around his neck, and he clutched her tight, spinning madly in circles. She peppered his face with kisses.
“Oh, Max, I thought it was you and he shot him and then he tied me up and put us in the shed and then—”
His kiss effectively stopped her ramblings. Hungry for the taste of him, she explored with her tongue, feeling the now familiar ache in her lower regions that just kissing him caused.
“God, Abby, I thought I’d lost you. Don’t ever do that to me again!” He squeezed her so tightly, she could hardly breath. She knew his anger was his way of dealing with the fear.
“Max, I found Monty,” she said by way of distracting him.
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