The air hung hot and heavy.
It smelled of sweat and beer.
Christie spotted Holt, standing above the crowd on the landing, at the far end of the room. His eyes were trained on the opposite end of the room. When she turned, she soon discovered why.
• • •
“Get up.” Nat shoved his Colt against Billy’s right ear. “Real slow, that’s right.” A soft buzz commenced around the tables, but Nat barely heard. There was only him and Billy. He’d dreamed of this moment so long, it didn’t seem real. Except in his dream, Billy didn’t come peaceably. He always went for his gun.
Nat cocked his Colt—willing Billy to do it now—itching for a reason to pull that trigger.
But Billy must have sensed the deadly intent behind his words. He held his hands away from his holster, coming slowly to his feet without so much as a word.
“Now, start heading for the door.”
A high-pitched scream pierced the air, followed by a series of gasps and a shuffling of chairs.
Nat’s gaze sliced across the room in the direction of the commotion.
Cecil stood by the side entrance of the saloon, dressed in some ridiculous getup, holding a knife to the throat of Helena Beaton, a well-known lady of San Francisco society.
Damn!
What was she doing here?
The upper crust usually kept to the ballroom upstairs.
Cecil’s voice grated like a squalling pig. “Drop your gun, Randall, or I’ll slit her wide open.”
Damn!
Where was Christopher? He was supposed to be covering that entrance. So much for their peaceable plan. “In front of all of these witnesses?” Nat shouted back. “You’ll never make it off this boat alive.”
Gamblers slid under tables.
Glasses clinked and silk swished as people scurried to the perimeter of the room.
A hush fell over the saloon.
“I ain’t letting her go ’til you holster that Colt,” Cecil called back.
Billy turned his head. A slow grin spread over his face. “You’d better listen to him Randall.”
Nat’s hand didn’t waver. Out of the corner of his eye, Nat spied Holt working his way closer through the crush of quivering bodies plastered against the wall.
Seconds ticked by.
The panic increased in Cecil’s eyes.
So did the chance of him doing something stupid.
And all this time he had worried about Christie getting in his way.
Then, as if to prove how powerful thoughts can be, she appeared, turning his dream of capturing the Everetts into a nightmare. “Drop the knife, Cecil, and let Mrs. Beaton go, or I’ll be forced to put a very large hole in the back of your skull.” Christie stood behind Cecil with a derringer pointed at his head.
Nat froze.
Fear squeezed the air from his lungs like a hand wringing a sponge. One quick move—that was all it would take for Cecil to turn and slit Christie’s throat.
Hell!
Why hadn’t she stayed in her cabin like he’d told her?
Then, to his amazement, Cecil spread his hands wide, letting the knife clatter to the floor.
Mr. Beaton scrambled to retrieve it.
The look of triumph seeped from Billy’s face.
The sight of Flossie approaching from the direction of the stairs had his green eyes sparking back to life.
“Hold it right there!” Flossie flounced toward Billy, eyes flashing like small brush fires. A swollen cheek disfigured one side of her heavily roughed face. Her voice squeaked like a new saddle in a rainstorm. “Where’s my money, you no account bastard!”
“Can’t you see I’m busy!” Billy roared.
“Are you yelling at me?” Flossie screeched back. “’Cause I’m tired of you yellin’ at me!”
Billy answered with syrupy sarcasm. “Sorry, Floss, didn’t mean to yell, but if you want your money you’d best tell Mr. Randall to lower his gun.”
“You’re not tricking me again.” Flossie cocked her pearl-handled pistol, aiming it at his head. “It took me a long time to save that money. I ain’t about to let you take it.”
“Does this look like a trick? He’s taking me in!” Billy’s eyes darted wildly between the two weapons. “Shoot him! Shoot him now!”
Flossie hesitated, then lifted her gaze above Billy’s head.
“I’ll have to ask you to lower that pistol, ma’am,” Nat drawled calmly, despite the drops of sweat running down his back. There was nothing more dangerous than a hysterical woman with a gun. “You don’t want to hurt anyone now.”
Flossie’s eyes widened, as though she’d just noticed the gun leveled at Billy’s head. Her hand began to shake.
At that moment, Holt, who had been edging his way closer, made a grab for Flossie’s pistol.
A deafening explosion shattered the room.
• • •
Christie’s heart banged to a stop.
Nat.
Where was he?
Was he hit?
When she sighted him over the heads of the stunned crowd, filtering away from the wall, she was able to breathe again. She wanted to run to him, throw herself into his arms and kiss every part of his face.
Somewhere amongst the din of excited voices, she heard Flossie sobbing, “Billy, Billy, I’m sorry, please, wake up! You can’t be dead! You can’t!”
When Christie turned back around, Cecil was gone.
Damn!
That little weasel!
Oh well, it shouldn’t be difficult to spot a troll in maid’s clothing. When she looked up again, Nat was threading his way toward her through the crowd. He didn’t look happy.
The firm set of his jaw confirmed it. “Where’s Cecil?”
“I don’t know. I looked away for a moment and he was gone. He just slipped away.”
“What are you doing here?” Nat asked in a tight voice. “I thought I told you to stay in your cabin.”
Christie stiffened. Fine thanks she got for helping him out of a pinch. “Look, I’m sorry if you’re angry, but my experience capturing outlaws is rather limited, I’m afraid.”
“I’m not angry that you let him get away.” His midnight gaze bored into her. “I’m angry that you were here in the first place—that you interfered.”
“Interfered!” She stared back at him in disbelief. She’d done what she had to do. Lucky for him Uncle Will had gifted her that derringer. “I saved Mrs. Beaton’s life!”
“That,” he bit out distinctly, “is a matter of opinion.” He turned on his heel to stalk toward the side entrance of the saloon.
“Where are you going?”
“Stay here,” he threw over his shoulder in ominous tones.
Off to chase after Cecil, no doubt. Christie’s gaze shifted numbly to the derringer in her hand. She had actually pointed a gun at someone’s head. And for a split second, remembering what the Everetts had done to her, she had relished it. Dear Lord, she was no better than the rest of them. This place had turned her into a savage.
What if Cecil hadn’t dropped the knife? What would she have done then—shoot him? With a trembling hand she stuffed the gun back into her pocket.
She wouldn’t think of it. She’d done what she had to, to save Mrs. Beaton’s life. Not that it mattered to Nat. He hadn’t spared a word or a question of concern. Are you alright Christie? Thank you for helping Christie. Nothing.
Ungrateful lout!
“Miss Wallace!” Mrs. Beaton exclaimed, clutching Christie against her amble bosom. “How can I ever thank you? I shall be indebted to you for the rest of my days.”
“Yes, indeed!” Mr. Beaton confirmed. “That was the bravest thing I ever saw—a true display of heroism.”
“We had only just come for a wee snoop before the ball,” Mrs. Beaton said. “What an extraordinary coincidence you’d done the same.”
“Yes,” Christie said vaguely, remembering Nat’s angry face. “If only I hadn’t let him get away.”
“Yes, I’m sure they will.” Christie said, forcing a smile. Then the sound of Flossie’s sobbing drew her attention away. “I’m sorry, but could you excuse me.” Christie wove her way through the startled sea of faces, intent on offering what comfort she could.
Though she had no idea what she would say. Billy Everett had been a cruel, evil man—a monster. She wasn’t sorry he was dead. But one person had loved him, and though Christie couldn’t understand why, it had to count for something. Some good in his character had shined in Flossie’s heart, blocking out the bad.
“I love you, Billy. I always loved you,” Flossie wailed over Billy’s broken, bloody corpse. “Why did you have to be that way? Why did you have to keep hurting people? I was just trying to get my money, that’s all. Oh, Billy! Billy!!!”
Christie put a gentle hand on Flossie’s shoulder.
Flossie looked up at her with desperate, pleading eyes. “I just wanted to stop him. He wasn’t supposed to die. I didn’t mean to shoot him. I would never hurt him. I loved him!”
Christie knelt down beside her. “I know, Flossie. It’s alright. It’s not your fault. It was an accident.” She took her by the shoulders to urge her to her feet. “Come with me. Come away.”
“I didn’t mean it!”
“I know. You did your best. You couldn’t change him, no one could. Sometimes loving people is all we can do.”
“I did love him, I did!”
“I know you did.”
Luckily, just then Leigh appeared, looking startled and out of breath. “I heard the shot.” The sight of Billy’s bloody corpse brought him up short. “My God! Flossie, are you alright?”
“Flossie needs to sit down,” Christie said. “She needs to rest.”
“Come on, Floss. I’ll take you home.” Leigh gathered her under his comforting arm, leading her toward the stairs.
Just in the nick of time, as far as Christie was concerned. She’d run out of things to say. Leigh, on the other hand, had a mountain of insincere drivel to occupy Flossie’s grief stricken mind.
Nat had told her to wait, but the gamblers, stepping over Billy’s blood-soaked body to return to their tables made her stomach revolt. Where was the crew? Why weren’t they cleaning it up? She had to get out—away from the smell of blood and death.
By the time she reached her cabin door, her hands were beginning to shake. But she managed to wiggle the lock opened. Safe inside, she bolted the door. She felt drained, but relieved. Two Everetts down and one to go. Surely it must be wrong to feel no remorse over another person’s death, but she couldn’t feel anything else.
As long as Cecil was out there, he was a threat. She wouldn’t feel safe until he was apprehended.
• • •
Christie rolled out of bed with a groan. Why must Leigh pound his fists so loud against the door? He’d certainly taken his sweet time escorting Flossie home. Christie stumbled across the carpet, pulling on her azure silk wrapper as she went. Mercy! Why had she bolted the cursed thing?
She slid back the bolt, preparing for a scalding reprimand.
But when she opened the door, it wasn’t Leigh but Nat standing before her, looking serious and out of sorts.
Relief washed over her, followed by a pleasurable disturbance in her solar plexus. “Oh, I thought you were Leigh.” She took a step back, blinking the sleep from her eyes. “He took Flossie home. He should have returned by now.”
“If he’s with Flossie, I doubt he’ll be returning any time soon.”
Christie hugged her wrapper closer. Now that she’d slept enough to ward off exhaustion, she’d never get back to sleep, knowing she was alone with Cecil out there on the loose. Is that why Nat had come—to warn her? Or did he know that the sight of him sent shivers all over her skin.
“Are you going to let me in?” He lifted a dark brow. “I’d serenade you, but my voice is a little rusty right now.”
She considered him warily. He looked haggard, the lines around the corners of his eyes more pronounced. The sight of him squeezed at her heart, softening the memory of his harsh words in the saloon. But it was late, and she was too tired to suffer through any more of his cynical speeches.
“Alright, I’ll give it a try.” He opened his mouth as though he might break into song.
“Shhh, someone might hear you.” She opened the door wide, waving him inside with an urgent flutter of her hand. After closing the door, she leaned against it demanding, “Now, what do you want?”
He ran one hand through his night-black hair. “I can see that you’re angry with me.”
She folded her arms under her breasts. “I’m not angry.” The last thing she wanted was for him to know that she cared.
“I don’t blame you.” The husky timbre of his voice danced along her spine. “I was out of line.”
“For once we agree,” she said in a quiet voice.
His features grew serious. “But you shouldn’t have been there.”
“Is this an apology?” If it was, it was a reluctant one. “Because, all of sudden it’s starting to sound like something else.”
He heaved a great sigh, rubbing a hand over his face. “No, you’re right. I’m making a mess of this. Let me begin again. Look, I’m sorry I lost my temper, but when I saw you so close to Cecil, so close to that knife. Do you have any idea what Cecil can do with a knife?” Nat shook his head. “No of course you don’t, and that is just my point. You don’t understand the danger. You never have.”
“Of course I understand.” Why did he always speak to her as though she was an idiot? “They kidnapped me, remember?” She drew a long trembling breath. Why was she being so defensive? She hadn’t done it for him—to fulfill his dream of vengeance. She had her own bone to pick with the Everetts. But she wasn’t about to admit it—that she’d become a savage just like him. “Mrs. Beaton needed help,” she said finally. “It was the neighborly thing to do.”
“Don’t tell me you didn’t enjoy it.” He gave a dark chuckle. “I’m sure you’ve dreamed of holding a gun to Cecil’s head.”
“Perhaps, but I’m not blood thirsty enough to waste three years of my life to do it.”
A shadow passed over his face. “I guess I’m not very forgiving.”
She flushed. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I just don’t understand how the Everetts have taken over your whole life.”
“Neither do I.” He flashed a cynical smile. “Some people might call it dedication. I guess you just think I’m stubborn.” He flopped down in the pink toile chair against the wall. Mind if I have a drink?” He lifted the decanter without waiting for an answer. “Do you want one?”
She shook her head, watching him splash two fingers into a glass.
Instead of drinking it, he swirled the whiskey round and round. “You see, I made a promise to my friend Drew to keep his sister safe. I thought marrying Heather would be the best way to do that, but I was wrong. I failed.” He gave a humorless chuckle. “God, I was so young and stupid. I should have listened to my father—let him and Aunt Carolyn find her a suitable match. But it was hard to know who to trust after the war. After what I saw, spying for the Pinkertons, I didn’t trust anyone after that.”
He worked for the Pinkerton’s? She wanted to question him further, but the weary look on his face stalled her. “It wasn’t your fault,” she said softly. “Things happen. We can’t always keep the people we love safe.”
He took a gulp of whiskey. “See, that’s the trouble. I didn’t love her. At least not in the way a husband should love a wife. I cared for her, but I can’t say I ever loved her. Maybe if I had, I wouldn’t have brought her out to California in the first place.”
“Nonsense!” Christie pushed away from the door. “She could have died in the States crossing the street. You
’re not responsible for what the Everetts did. I haven’t known you very long, but if anyone asked me about your character, I’d say you are the most dependable man I’ve ever met.”
“You’re just saying that because I rescued you from the Everetts. The truth is,” he said, tipping his glass her way. “I was blistering mad when I found out I had to trade you for Hank.”
Christie grinned. “I know. But you did it anyway. And that’s why I—” She almost said love you, but that was wrong. She couldn’t possibly love Nat. How could she love someone who didn’t respect her, who thought her a burden—a helpless child to be watched over? “I mean, that’s why I respect you. You do what’s right, even when you don’t want to. You could have killed Billy, but you didn’t.”
“Yah,” Nat gave a harsh laugh. “Well, maybe I should have.”
“Do you really want that on your conscience?”
“I think you’re confusing me with someone else.”
Fresh heat crept into her cheeks, realizing he wasn’t far from the truth. But that was silly. She had never been the sort to spend her life in a tower, waiting for a prince to come along and sweep her off her feet. Well, perhaps for a moment, when she and her father had finally had it out about her marrying Mr. Cavanaugh. But, then, the feeling had passed and she’d taken matters into her own hands. “It wouldn’t have been worth it.”
“You might think so, but pulling that trigger would have given me a great deal of satisfaction.” He took another swig of whiskey.
She drew closer, intent on offering him some comfort. “You don’t know that.”
“Oh, yes I do.” He reached out to capture one of her hands. “I know what satisfaction is, and I’m not feeling it right now.”
Christie’s heart beat wildly in her breast.
His thumb caressed the inside of her palm, sending a delicious thrill from her toes to the surface of her tingling lips.
Chapter Twenty
Nat rubbed his thumb over the silky center of Christie’s palm. “There are different kinds of satisfaction.”
“I know.” She made to pull away. “The safe kind and the dangerous kind.”
It wasn’t like him to play the seducer, but at that moment he wanted her so badly his mind wasn’t listening to the conscience she kept insisting he had. Or maybe he just wanted to prove her wrong. Whatever the reason, he didn’t let go of her hand. Instead he pulled her steadily closer, so that when he came to his feet it was easy to gather her into is arms. “And what am I?”
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