“His mines are overflowing with gold. They say enough to make ten men rich for ten lifetimes.”
Christie had plenty of time to digest this as she lay soaking in the tub. So this was Nat’s house—his ranch. No wonder Li Ling wanted to marry him. But if that was true, why was he chasing after the Everetts? Why would he risk his life trying to catch three outlaws when he had so many other responsibilities? It didn’t make sense.
She closed her eyes while Inez lathered her hair with shampoo, then scrubbed her scalp with the tips of her fingers. She hadn’t felt this pampered in months. God, it felt so good! Inez rinsed her hair with a bucket of warm water. After, Christie stepped from the tub and stood on a towel while Inez patted her dry. Then, Inez instructed her to lie on the bed so that she could rub soothing lotion into Christie’s parched skin.
Her gentle kneading hands dragged a sigh of pleasure from her lips.
“You are very stiff and tense. Try to relax,” Inez instructed.
But Christie couldn’t relax—she was bursting with questions. She didn’t want the young girl to think she was prying, but she had to know. “Does Señor Randall live here alone?”
“Sí, it is a shame he does not have a son to leave it to. Mama says he will not marry again.” She felt Inez shrug. “But I cannot believe that. He is so handsome and still very young.”
Christie rose up on her elbows. “He was married?”
“Sí, to Señora Heather, but she died when the stage was robbed.”
Christie gasped. “By the Everetts?”
“Sí.”
That explained it—the coldness in his eyes, the simmering rage—always lurking beneath the surface. No wonder he was so determined to catch them. They killed his wife.
And she had recklessly accused him of doing it for money.
Her flesh went hot.
“They are very bad men.”
Christie sank back down, feeling the heat of shame prick her cheeks. She seized on the first topic she could think of to distract herself. “Why do you say he’ll never marry again? Wasn’t he happy in his marriage, I mean before his wife died?”
“I do not know.” Inez kneaded her fingers in a circular fashion down the length of Christie’s spine. “She was killed on the way to the Dos Almas.”
“Then she never lived here?”
“No, she came by ship to San Francisco. We spent days preparing a feast. When Señor Randall did not return, mi padre and some of the vaqueros went out to look for them.”
“And he’s been after the Everetts ever since,” Christie breathed.
“Sí, after he recovered from his injuries, he left with his friend Señor Holt. He comes back to Dos Almas often, but he does not stay.”
“Dos Almas … what does that mean?”
“Two souls.” Christie could hear the smile in her voice. “Is that not romantic?”
“Yes,” Christie agreed. “Very romantic.” It was such a sad and intriguing story, yet there were so many unanswered questions—things that didn’t make sense. She wanted to pump Inez for more information, but she feared if she pushed her too hard she might dry right up. She dared not risk it, but there was so much more she wanted to know.
Hours later, after her nap, Inez returned to help her prepare for dinner. She carried an armful of clothes which she laid out on the bed. “Señor Randall told me to bring you these. They have been packed away in a trunk for a very long time, but I have ironed out the wrinkles and hung them outside to air.”
“Thank you.” Christie smoothed her hand over a silvery blue silk gown. “Are you sure he doesn’t mind?”
“No, señorita, he tell me to bring them.”
The gown was two sizes too small, but Inez managed to pack Christie into it. Nat’s wife must have been no bigger than a child. Christie had to brace her hands against the wall and hold her breath while Inez fastened the hooks. She suspected the neckline, edged with gathered white sheer, wasn’t meant to be so revealing. With so little fabric to work with, her bosom had nowhere to go but up. It swelled high above the sumptuous confines of the gown with scandalous results.
“I will let out the seams tomorrow.” Inez flashed an apologetic smile.
When Christie sat down at the dressing table, a stranger stared back at her in the looking glass. She frowned at the burn on her face. It disturbed her more than the small cut at the left corner of her mouth or the faint yellow bruise at the edge of her jaw.
She sighed as Inez began coiling her freshly washed curls atop of her head. Oh well, it could be worse. She could have blistered like paint in the sun. What did it matter? There was no one here to see her anyway.
Christie glided down the staircase, all aflutter. How would Nat react to seeing her in one of his wife’s gowns? Would he regret lending it to her? It might dredge up painful memories he wished to forget.
Not that she had much choice. She had nothing else to wear. Sitting down to dinner naked was liable to produce a much more dangerous reaction.
As it turned out, she needn’t have worried. At first sight of her in the dining room doorway, a wide smile curved his lips. “You’d better eat slowly,” he said, sliding his gaze down the length of her. “You look as though you’re ready to burst out of that thing.”
“It is rather tight.” She smoothed her hands over the skirt. “Should I change?”
He appeared stricken for a moment, then quickly recovered. “No!”
“Very well.” Gad! He was strange. Just when she thought she’d figured him out, he acted completely contrary to her predictions. And to unbalance her further, there he stood dressed to the teeth in black evening attire. His elegant cutaway coat appeared tailored to perfection, and his white, lawn shirt as crisp as a windblown sheet. He even sported a beautifully tied cravat above his blue silk vest.
“Why didn’t you tell me this was your house?” She blurted, then wished she’d held her tongue.
He strode to the table to pull out one of the elaborately carved chairs for her. “Does it matter?”
“Yes it matters. I can’t stay here.” Which he must very well know. “It wouldn’t be proper. I mean, what might people think.”
He lifted a brow. “Staying here can’t be much worse than being kidnapped by the Everetts.”
Heat crept through her limbs, blazing a path to her cheeks. Did he still blame her for losing his prisoner? What more could she say? She’d thanked him and he’d practically thrown it back in her face. It was only natural that he should resent having to rescue her at the cost of Hank, but she didn’t like it. She couldn’t say why, but she didn’t want to be the cause of his disappointment.
She walked slowly forward, then perched stiffly on the edge of the chair. As soon as he moved away, she reached for the crystal goblet of red wine in front of her plate. Her hand trembled as she brought it to her lips. She didn’t want to think about the Everetts. She didn’t want to think about any of it.
But sitting in a chair his wife might have occupied, wearing one of her gowns, reminded her of all Nat had risked in her memory. When compared to the long silence she’d endured before he agreed to exchange her for Hank, she felt a twinge of jealousy. What would it be like to be loved by a man like him—a man so confident his swagger turned women’s heads at the other end of Murdock?
She lifted her gaze to find him regarding her from where he sat at the head of the table. A hint of a smile played over his lips. “I hope you’re hungry. Morena is an excellent cook, and considers it an insult if you don’t finish everything on your plate.”
“Then she’d certainly be impressed with the Everetts.” An image of Cecil and Billy licking their plates with hungry concentration made her shiver with revulsion, then just as quickly made her smile. The wine was making her giddy.
Li Ling arrived carrying a soup tureen, matching the red and gold china on the table. While she ladled out their first course, Christie gazed about the room. Everything seemed perfect—so perfect it didn’t look lived in. Not a sc
ratch or a flaw could be found. Even the formally carved-oak mantel appeared new, as though a fire had never crackled in the grate. The burgundy wallpaper blanketed the room in warmth. The table glittered with china and silver, and yet, there was something missing.
The aroma of fresh herbs and onions returned her attention to the table. She wasn’t disappointed. The chicken soup tasted delicious—the best she’d eaten. Except for the giant bone she discovered at the bottom of the bowl.
Perhaps Li Ling was trying to kill off the competition.
She hadn’t realized how hungry she was until she started eating.
She lifted her gaze to find Nat watching her from the other end of the linen draped table.
She folded her hands self-consciously in her lap. “I need to get word to my uncle, to let him know that I’m safe.”
“Iago rode to Sacramento this afternoon to telegraph him.”
“I should have gone with him to catch the stage,” she murmured faintly.
“You’re safer here,” Nat said flatly.
“I can’t stay here forever.” Though this was the safest she’d felt in days, and a herd of wild horses couldn’t drag her from his house at that moment, eventually she must face all the wagging tongues. “Sooner or later I’ll have to go back.”
“Yes, you’ll have to go back.” His tone was casual, but definite, as though speaking of returning a suit that didn’t quite fit.
Something sank in her belly. Why this should bother her, she didn’t know. But it did. She opened her mouth to ask when, but the sound of footsteps interrupted.
Li Ling hustled in with the main course—steak, roasted potatoes and little carrots swimming in butter. The thick steak required a great deal of wine to wash it down. Christie drank three glasses before it was half gone. She couldn’t eat another bite. The steak was so tender and juicy she’d eaten more than she ought. Luckily, the tight gown prevented her from disgracing herself as a glutton.
The food made her sleepy. Or perhaps it was the wine. Her lids felt so heavy, she wanted to lean her head back on her chair, close her eyes and go to sleep.
The sound of Nat’s voice made her blink. “You look like you need some air.”
Air?
There was no air with him around.
But she nodded and pushed back her chair. Tomorrow he would be gone. And for the first time, she realized she didn’t want him to leave. He was the only person who made her feel safe in this isolated wilderness—the one person there for her when trouble called.
She pushed the thought aside—not wanting to feel that way—not wanting him to be her champion. She could take care of herself as she always had—without killing people, then turning her back as though she’d done nothing more than squash a fly.
He was barbaric.
And yet, the thought of him leaving made her feel lost—vulnerable even? Must be the trauma of the kidnapping. It was silly to think she needed him. She didn’t need him.
Ridiculous!
This foolish yearning to bury her face in his chest and feel his strong arms around her would go away eventually.
She just needed a little time.
Chapter Ten
“What are you doing?”
“Relax,” Nat commanded. “I’m just unfastening a few hooks so that you can breathe.”
Christie leaned forward in the porch rocker. It wasn’t right to allow him to perform such an intimate task. The wine must have gone to her head. Still, it felt good to have someone considering her comfort for a change.
It was a tender gesture—something a husband might do for his wife. It made her curious what kind of husband he’d been—what kind of woman he’d married. But she was careful not to let it show in her voice. “Your wife must have been very petite.”
“She was.” He moved to sit in the other rocker. He stretched out his legs, looking skyward as if studying the stars.
Christie took another sip of wine, watching him over the rim of her glass. “Inez told me what happened. I’m sorry.”
He flashed a dark look. “Inez is a little chatterbox.”
“I’m sorry the Everetts got away.”
“They won’t be hard to find.”
“I feel as though it’s my fault.”
“It isn’t.”
She released a quavering sigh of relief. Did that mean she was forgiven? His silence told a different story. “I wish I hadn’t been in the mercantile that day.”
“Look,” he flashed a half lazy smile, “Just forget it. It wasn’t your fault.”
It felt as though a weight had lifted from her. He didn’t blame her, or if he did, he was willing to let sleeping dogs lie. She leaned her head back and drew in a long grateful breath. The roses growing in front of the veranda smelled as sweet as raspberries. “Why didn’t you hire someone to go after the Everetts? I mean, Inez tells me you have the means.”
He lifted one dark brow before saying wryly, “I’m going to have to put a muzzle on that girl.”
“Well,” Christie pressed, “Why didn’t you?”
“Because I wanted the job done right!”
Christie smiled ruefully. Obviously a touchy subject. “You sound just like my father.”
He sent her a sidelong glance. “Your father must be a wise man.”
“He would be, if he wasn’t so stubborn.” She rose from her chair, glass in hand, and wandered to the veranda rail. The stars seemed to float as she wrapped one arm around the post, laying her cheek against cool, smooth surface of the wood. “He’s so bound and bent I should marry well. When he finds out what’s happened, there will be no living with him.”
Nat’s tone hardened. “He shouldn’t have allowed you to come here in the first place.”
Her laughter spilled across the night air. “I know. Funny, isn’t it?” She turned around to look at him, pressing her back flat against the post. “He thought he was teaching me a lesson. But this time I’ve won.”
“Oh yeah?” Nat sounded amused. “What have you won?”
Christie blinked, attempting to focus on his face. “The right to do whatever I choose. Now that a well placed match is out of the question, I can do whatever I want.”
“Boston is a long way off. It’s unlikely anyone will ever learn of your kidnapping.”
Bitter laughter bubbled out of her. “My father would never deceive his friend. Oh, no, no, no, he’s too honorable for that. And once my intended’s illustrious family hears of my kidnapping, they’ll never take the chance of sullying their good family name. I’m damaged goods, whether the Everetts laid a hand on me or not.”
“Then it’s all for the best,” Nat’s voice softened. “A man like that isn’t worth marrying.”
“Yes.” She gulped back the rest of her wine, then held out her glass. “I think I need some more.”
Nat came to his feet, then sauntered forward to pluck the glass from her hand. His features remained inscrutable, save for a slight curve at the corners of his lips. “I think you’ve had enough for tonight.” He set the glass down on the rail. “It’s time I took you to bed.”
When he turned back around, she noticed his cravat was askew. Without thinking, she reached up to straighten it back into place. “You’re not like that, are you Nat?”
“Like what?” The husky timber of his voice rattled up her spine.
One hand splayed across his broad chest, she gazed up into his shadowed face. “When you love someone, you hold on tight and love them forever, don’t you?”
“You’re drunk.”
She grinned. “I am, aren’t I?” She pondered the possibility for a moment, then giggled. “I’ve done so many new things since I met you. I’ve witnessed a robbery, a shooting, saved a prostitute … Did I tell you Flossie was entertaining Billy Everett right under the sheriff’s nose?”
Nat smiled. “I was aware of that.”
“You were? Well, I wish someone had told me! I wouldn’t have been so sympathetic when she came crying on my shoulder. Not th
at it matters, the advice I gave her likely fell on deaf ears.” Remembering made Christie lose her train of thought. “Where was I? Oh, yes, I’ve been kidnapped, dragged up and down mountains, and now, finally—drunk. But I think I’m enjoying this most.”
He chuckled. “Yeah, well I doubt you’ll feel that way in the morning, sweetheart. “Come on.” He took her by the arm. “It’s time for bed.”
Things got a little fuzzy after that.
All at once they were at the top of the landing. She vaguely remembered stumbling along beside him up the stairs. The intoxicating proximity of his hard body befuddled her, adding to the effects of the wine. She wrapped her arms around his neck and smiled. “Nat, is that short for Nathan or Nathaniel?”
“Nathan.”
“Hmm, I don’t like that name.” She didn’t know why. Her mind wasn’t working so well. “At any rate, it doesn’t suit someone as dark and tragic as you.”
He gave a snort. “You talk as though I’m the hero of some dime novel.”
She lifted her finger to trace the half moon scar on his chin. “You did save me, remember.”
“Yes, I did save you,” he agreed disentangling her arms from around his neck. “Now I’m going to save you again and put you to bed.”
“What does that mean?” She squinted attempting to read his features. “You want to ravish me?”
“If I was going to do that, it would have already happened.” He took her by the hand, and for a moment she thought he might take her to his room. She felt a faint sense of disappointment when he turned in the opposite direction toward her bedchamber.
She could add wanton to her list of recent sins.
But what did it matter.
She was a woman of notorious character now.
Notorious.
Gad, she’d always wondered what it must be like to be notorious! Instead of being the eldest—forced to constantly spout off self-righteous dribble, even when she didn’t believe it, to save her younger sisters from ruin. Well, look who was ruined now.
Loving the Lawmen Page 42