by Paty Jager
“They won’t come over here will they?” she couldn’t keep her voice from shaking.
“I don’t know. The leader appears to have things handled, and I think he’ll honor the fact I stood up to him.” Zeke rubbed a hand over his face. “Kind of hard to see what he was really thinking with only the moonlight and his hat shading part of his face.”
Maeve put her hand on his arm. “Thank you.” Her fingers trembled, and she grasped his shirt. “I don’t think I’ve ever been so scared. I’m also sorry I put you in that situation.”
He placed his hand over hers. “This is all new. You’ll learn to be more careful. And don’t forget, you have that gun and a deadly aim. You don’t have to be a victim.”
She touched the pistol hanging at her side. The man had come up behind her so fast, she didn’t have time to think, but the next time anyone tried it…
Zeke handed her a plate. They silently ate and watched the men growing louder at the fire. When they finished, they both walked down to the river and washed the dishes, then Zeke followed her to the boulders and stood guard while she finally had the chance to take care of business.
At the camp, Zeke rolled out both bedrolls side-by-side one against the wall of the bluff. “You crawl in the one to the back and cover up good. It’s going to be cooler away from the fire.”
Maeve started to protest, but he shook his head. He leaned against the bluff next to her, sharpening his knife and watching the men before he lay down with his back to her.
She tapped his shoulder.
“Yeah?”
“You need a blanket.” She started to throw part of hers over him. His arm came up stopping the motion.
“I don’t want to be wrapped up in a blanket if I have to move quick.”
“Are you planning to stay awake all night?” she asked, wondering what use he would be for protection in the morning if he was too tired to stand.
“Only until they all fall asleep. Then I’ll take a nap.” He rolled to his back. His shoulder grazed her breast. The sensation made her body vibrate.
His gaze left the men and stared into her eyes. “If you aren’t warm enough, just snuggle up to my back.”
At the moment, she was more than warm enough. She nodded her head and pulled the blankets around her tighter. These feelings his touch evoked were new. She had no doubt, somewhere in her twenty-two years she’d missed out on some important information about what men could do to a woman’s body.
She hadn’t planned on snuggling against his back or falling asleep, but she did both and woke in the morning feeling refreshed.
Placing a hand on Zeke’s shoulder, she peered over his sleeping form to catch a glimpse of their unwanted guests. The leader sat on the ground by the fire watching them. A shiver shuddered her body, and Zeke slid a hand back, drawing her tighter against him.
“I thought you were asleep,” she said just above his ear as she continued to watch the man by the fire.
“I was until you touched me.”
“I’m sorry.” She ran her hand up and down his arm in a soothing motion.
“I’m not.”
She heard the grin in his voice and smiled. The more she stuck around with him the more she felt herself uncoiling and enjoying life.
His hand squeezed the back of her thigh. Her heart beat rapidly, and the juncture between her legs pulsed. She gasped at the sensations.
Zeke flopped to his back, cupping her cheek in his large hand. “What’s wrong?”
“N-nothing. I’m…” She pressed her face deeper into his palm, trying to snuff the heat in her cheeks.
“You’re hot. Are you getting sick?” He sat up, pulling her up onto his lap.
She slapped at his arms and glanced over her shoulder. The man leered at them. “You’re making a scene. One I don’t want that man to see.”
“You’d tell me if you were feeling puny, wouldn’t you?” Zeke pressed his lips to her forehead then peered into her eyes.
“Yes, I’d let you know. I hate being sick. I’m not sick.”
“Good. Let’s just saddle up and get out of here. We’ll nibble on some bread when we’re farther away from those men.”
She agreed with his idea. “Then unhand me, so I can stand and get busy.” She grabbed his hat, plopping it on Zeke’s head as he helped her stand. Again, his hands grasped her legs as she stood. The sensation wasn’t as unsettling. His hands freely roaming her body with familiarity should have had her causing a scene. Instead, she welcomed his touch and realized she now knew the feelings of a woman.
****
The wide river had a broad bar of sandy soil with new grass in the middle. After trudging the horses through belly deep water, Zeke gave the animals a break on the built up silt and glanced back to make sure the riders remained at the camp. Satisfied they weren’t followed, he urged his horse back into the river. The water on this side of the bar sloshed around the horse’s knees. Once they were on solid ground, he kicked his gelding into a trot and Maeve followed. At this speed, they would be in The Dalles early enough to find the saloon, contact Barton, and still get cleaned up and enjoy a decent meal.
He’d spent most of the night watching the three men. They would have had to kill him to get their hands on Maeve. He wished he’d done more than scratch the one who had touched her. But he wouldn’t have Maeve watch him kill a man. He wanted her to only see his gentle side, the one he projected when not helping his brother hunt down outlaws.
Zeke peered over his shoulder at the woman following him. He wasn’t sure what he would do if they found out her father had made his living on the wrong side of the law. After his parents and brother were killed, he’d made a pact with himself to rid the world of murderers.
Maeve caught his gaze and held it. She was a child and had nothing to do with her father’s indiscretions. Yet, he couldn’t deny the coldness she was so adept at portraying. He’d learned it as an adult, but she clung to it like a person who’d lived with it her whole life.
She urged her horse up alongside. “When will we reach The Dalles?” The apprehension in her voice made him wonder if she knew something.
“We should be there mid-afternoon. Enough time to find Barton, clean up, have a good dinner, and get some decent sleep.” He watched her hand flex at her hip. She was agitated. “What are you afraid we’ll find?”
Her head jerked around, and her eyes narrowed. “I don’t know what we’ll find. My father alive and sorry he wrote that letter because it made me find him, or that he’s been dead all these years and no one cared enough to tell us.” A tear slid down her cheek. She swiped at it with a gloved hand and pushed her horse into a lope.
No matter how you looked at it, she had guts riding hell-bent toward devastating answers.
Chapter 8
Maeve couldn’t ease the clench in her gut as the horses’s hooves clomped on the packed dirt street of The Dalles. She’d never been to such a large town. At least not that she remembered. Buildings of varying sizes made out of wood, stone, and brick spread along the river and up the hill. The bustle around the train depot alone represented two days of activity in McEwen.
The street sported many saloons. She edged her horse closer to Zeke’s as the traffic and people pressed around like an undertow of water. Most of the men and women wore city clothes, they looked proper. Rubbing her dirty leather gloves on her dusty riding skirt, she wanted to hide.
She hadn’t dreamed The Dalles would be so large or urban. Tall stone buildings dwarfed smaller clapboard establishments. Her horse sidestepped a child running through the street. She couldn’t look enough places at once. Her neck felt like the axle of a wheel as she whirled her head back and forth, watching the people and taking in the atmosphere.
Her horse stopped. Swinging her gaze to Zeke, she spotted the High Stakes Saloon in front of him. He dismounted and tied his horse to the rail. She couldn’t move. Would the man who knew her father still be in this place?
“Come on, let’s get th
is over with. I could use a bath and a good meal.” Zeke reached up with both hands. His actions said more than words. He was there for her no matter what. She swung her leg over the horse’s neck and slid down into his waiting arms.
At least she had his strength and compassion to cling to through this.
“Have you ever been in a saloon?” he asked, his hands still resting on her hips.
“No. But I’ve heard things.” Things she didn’t want to repeat. She glanced at the tall windows. The building was impressive. Respectable, even. However, as she stood conversing with Zeke, two men stumbled out the tall door, leaning heavily on one another.
“Stay close and act like you’ve been in this kind of place before. Wouldn’t hurt to put a scowl on your face. Look like you’re as tough as all those men in there put together.” His lips curved in a mischievous grin, but his eyes remained hard.
“So in other words, act like we’ve just had a set-to.”
“Yeah, only remember I’m your one ally in there.” Zeke grabbed her hand and started to the building. At the door, he faced her, “And let me do the talking.” He kissed her quick, dropped her hand, and shoved the door open.
Smoke hung in the rafters of the high ceiling. A polished bar stood along the back wall, the space in-between filled with tables, chairs, and men. Some dressed as though they’d been on the road like she and Zeke and others dressed like businessmen and bankers.
She followed Zeke’s zigzag path through the tables to the bar. He stopped at the tall counter and surveyed the length of it. She took a spot next to him, following his lead of leaning one elbow on the counter, his body turned to keep an eye on the room.
A thin man, old enough to be her father, sporting a bushy, gray mustache, balding head, and an apron tied about his waist walked along the other side of the bar. He stopped across from them and sized Zeke up before smiling at her.
“What can I get you?” he asked, placing his hands on the shiny top and leaning her way.
She smiled at his disarming charm and waited for Zeke to say something.
“I’ll have a beer.” Zeke nodded toward her. “She’ll have a sarsaparilla.”
Maeve glared at Zeke. How was she supposed to appear tough if she drank sarsaparilla? “I’ll have beer, too.”
Zeke raised one eyebrow, but didn’t say a word. The barkeep took two large mugs and filled them with an amber liquid. She ignored the apprehension bubbling in her belly and grabbed the handle when he placed a full beaker in front of her.
The crooked grin on Zeke’s face as he raised his glass in a salute did nothing for her confidence. She breathed in the scent of fermented grain and poured the warm liquid into her mouth. Bitterness assaulted her tongue before the beer slid down her throat and left the taste of sourdough starter in her mouth.
She wiped the foam off her upper lip with the sleeve of her blouse and smiled at Zeke. He set down his glass and cleared his throat.
“We’re looking for a man named Barton.”
She watched the barkeep. His welcoming smile became cautious and the friendly glow to his eyes faded.
“What do you want with him?” the man asked before he moved down the counter, taking money and handing out bottles and glasses. Zeke’s eyes narrowed as his gaze followed the man.
“He knows him,” she said, behind the mug as she took another sip.
“Yeah, he does.” Zeke pushed her glass back down to the counter. “Don’t drink too much. On an empty stomach it can make you do things you’ll later regret.”
“Really?” She studied the foam on the top of the drink. Did men drink on empty stomachs all the time? From the stories she’d heard, they all got drunk when they drank. She cast a sideways glance at Zeke. What would he be like drunk?
The man came back. “Who are you?”
“That depends on who you are and how we can get in touch with Barton.” Zeke pushed his glass away and stared at the barkeep. This was Barton. He could feel it in the man’s change of mood at the mention of the name.
“Ray, get over here!” the barkeep shouted to a man who dealt cards at a nearby table. When the man moseyed over to the counter, the barkeep motioned for Zeke and Maeve to follow him to a table in a corner of the room. The man sat with his back in the corner, his guarded gaze watched the establishment.
Zeke took a chair to the side where he could also see the room and pulled Maeve down into a chair beside him.
The man leaned forward. His eyes appeared dark and hard as he stared at them. “I’ll only ask this one more time. Who are you?”
“I’m Zeke Halsey.” He nodded toward Maeve. “This is Maeve Loman.”
The man’s gaze darted to Maeve. He stared at her for a long time. “What do you want with Barton?”
“Her mother found a letter a while back, but just recently gave it to her. In it her father, Brendan Loman, told them to seek Barton at the High Stakes Saloon in The Dalles if he should not come home.” Zeke studied the man who didn’t take his gaze off Maeve. To her credit, she stared right back at him, never flinching.
“He didn’t come home ten years ago.”
The barkeep’s head snapped up to look at Zeke. “Ten years? And you’re just now looking for me?”
His instincts were right. This was Barton. “Maeve’s mother was a little—”
“Distraught over my father not returning. And she didn’t find the letter until she moved to Baker City with my aunt.” Maeve cut in.
“Why did she show it to you now? I would have thought she’d been anxious about her husband?” Barton watched Maeve. He knew something about Mrs. Loman. Zeke could see it in the vein pulsing on the man’s temple.
“It’s a long story,” Zeke started, “my brother’s wife found a tintype in a cabin where some outlaws were holed up.” Barton seemed to perk up. “The tintype was of my parents who were killed by Indian’s years ago. At least we thought so until this tintype surfaced.”
Barton leaned back in his chair, studying him. Did he see a light of recognition in the man’s dark eyes?
“Anyway, I showed the tintype to Maeve since I plan to marry her.” The woman next to him cleared her throat. He put a hand over hers and continued. “She said it was a picture of her uncle. That her pa had said the man in the tintype was his brother.”
A mirthless grin stretched across Barton’s lips, and his head nodded slightly.
“Seeing as how we want to get married,” he felt her tug on the hand under his, “we wanted to make sure we weren’t related. Maeve’s ma said they weren’t blood kin, but they knew each other during the war.”
Barton nodded his head. Not a good sign. Zeke was positive there was no way his pa could have been anywhere near the war.
“And that’s when she gave Maeve the letter from her pa—unopened.” He studied the man. Barton knew about Mr. Loman and his pa. His gut tightened. Something in his father’s past wasn’t going to set well. He could feel it in the calculating stare and mirthless smile of the man sitting at the table glancing back and forth between him and Maeve.
“I can set your minds at rest about being blood kin. You’re not,” Barton said, as though he were a preacher redeeming them.
He’d believed that all along, but hearing it was a relief. He rubbed his thumb back and forth across Maeve’s hand. Tremors echoed into his palm. Glancing into her eyes, he was relieved to see the statement didn’t bother her. They’d become closer on this journey. He’d hate to see her push him away.
“As to your father’s demise,” Barton peered at Maeve, “all I can say is, I thought he’d finished a job and finally went home to stay.”
“W-what do you mean a job?” Maeve turned her hand palm up and clutched Zeke’s hand.
“What do you know about your pa?” Barton asked, lowering his voice and settling his forearms on the table, leaning toward them.
Maeve leaned in. “He left my mother and I a great deal—to hunt for gold. And he worked as a freighter for a while.”
Barton rubbed a hand over his face and tugged on the end of his mustache. “He never went after gold, but he did work as a freighter before he fell in with some despicable people.”
Fear gripped her chest. Had he been an outlaw? If so, did she really want to find out what happened to him? For all she knew he could have been hanged.
“You’re not telling us everything.” The flat, low tone of Zeke’s voice reflected his feelings toward her father. She tried to pull her hand from his, but he clasped it harder.
“I can’t tell you any more here. And it isn’t a good idea if people find out who you are,” his gaze flickered to Maeve, “or you to be seen talking to me.”
She leaned away from the man. Was he just as despicable as her father? How were they to trust his answers?
“We’re going to get a room, a bath, and dinner. Is there some place we can meet you after that and talk?” Zeke stiffened when a group of men entered the establishment.
Her gaze drifted to the door, and her head throbbed. It was the men from the night before. Why had they followed them? The group had been headed the opposite direction last night.
“You know them?” Barton asked, scowling.
“Only in passing. They invaded our camp last night.” Zeke glared at the group.
Maeve didn’t want to look at them. She stared at Zeke and felt his anger as he gripped her hand.
“This might work to your favor. Watch your back with those men, but they will lead you to the truth about Loman.” Barton stood. “I’ll send a messenger to the Umatilla House with where to meet me.”
When Zeke finally looked at him, he added, “It’s the best place in town, has all the amenities you just listed. When you sign in, do it as Mr. and Mrs. You don’t want anyone to know you’re related to Loman.”
“But…” She started to go after the man. Zeke’s tight grip on her hand stopped her.
“Don’t make a scene.” He let go of her hand and pressed his palm against her back, moving her toward the door.