Texas Hold Him

by Lisa Cooke

  Eyes darting again to the open door, Dawson said, “Surely you don’t believe the ramblings of that old fool?”

  Before Dyer could answer, Dawson bolted for the door. Dyer pulled his gun to kill the bastard just as Lottie stepped into the doorway. Dawson grabbed her, jerking her in front of him a fraction of a second before Dyer could pull the trigger.

  His gut twisted. He’d almost shot Lottie

  Dawson smiled a sickeningly maniacal smile as he pressed a gun against Lottie’s throat. “Throw your gun aside, Straights,” Dawson said, adding, “Now!” when Dyer hesitated.

  “No!” Lottie said, but Dawson’s rough jerking of her against his chest convinced Dyer not to take any chances. He tossed his gun to the floor.

  Dawson chuckled, evidently enjoying the fact he was now in control. “I think it’s time you paid for being a traitor.”

  “I’ve already paid.”

  “Not enough.”

  Dyer had to swallow the bile that had crept up his throat. His mouth went dry as his mind replayed his nightmares. He heard the screaming. He smelled the smoke, only this time, it wasn’t Marianne’s face he saw in the fire—it was Lottie’s.

  Dear God.

  “I’ve got your money,” Dyer blurted, trying to distract him. “I have all twenty-five thousand I won in Saint Louis.” He didn’t, of course, but Dawson didn’t know that.

  “You know, it wasn’t just about the money,” Dawson said, a demented gleam in his eyes.

  Dyer remained silent, not wanting to chance saying something that would push Dawson over the edge.

  “I didn’t mean to kill your wife and boy, but it was just as well. At least now she don’t have to whore herself to a Yankee. How does it feel knowing your wife died because of you?”

  A rush of anger surged through Dyer’s veins. He wanted to rip that bastard’s head off with his own hands, but Lottie’s life still hung precariously in the balance.

  Another woman who might die because of him.

  “Take your money, Dawson,” Dyer said, keeping his voice calm. “Let Lottie go. She hasn’t done anything to you.”

  Dawson chuckled. “No, but she has to you, hasn’t she, Straights?” He pressed the gun into her throat. “Is she your new Yankee whore?” He grabbed Lottie’s face under her chin. “What ever would possess a daughter of the South to bed a Yankee?”

  Lottie remained silent, but her eyes widened and her lips parted with fear.

  “I’ve hidden the money here in the stable,” Dyer said, diverting Dawson’s attention away from Lottie. “Let her go and I’ll tell you where.”

  Dawson hesitated. “Give me the money first.”

  Slowly shaking his head, Dyer said, “You release Lottie, and then you can have the money.” He raised his hands. “I’m unarmed. It’s not like you can’t shoot me if I’ve lied.”

  Dawson paused for a moment, apparently thinking through Dyer’s words. “Well, Miss Mason,” Dawson said with a sneer, “It’s been nice knowing you.” He pressed a kiss against her face and shoved her away from him.

  Dawson lifted his gun and smiled. “Time to talk, Straights.”

  Dyer nodded toward a saddlebag hanging on the wall near a barrel. “It’s in that bag.”

  “Get it,” Dawson said, cocking his gun.

  Walking slowly toward the empty bag, Dyer gave Lottie enough time to distance herself from Dawson before slipping the bag off the nail.

  “Show it to me, Straights.” Dawson motioned with his gun. “Show me the money is in the bag.”

  Dyer opened the bag, then in one move, flung it at Dawson while dropping to the floor. The bullets from Dawson’s gun pinged off the barrel behind Dyer as he rolled away.

  “Dyer!” Lottie yelled, throwing a revolver to the floor beside him.

  Dawson spun toward her with a growl and aimed his gun.

  “No!” Dyer shouted, firing the gun before Dawson could end Lottie’s life.

  Dawson stood for a second, his mouth gaping as a red stain spread across his chest; then he collapsed to the floor of the stable.

  Lottie ran toward Dyer, arms opened.

  “Wait!” Holding up his hand, he crossed the floor to kick Dawson’s gun away and check for a pulse.

  “Is he dead?” she asked, her voice shaking.

  “Yeah.”

  She threw her arms around his neck, crying and kissing at the same time. “I thought he was going to kill you,” she blubbered.

  The possibility of his death had never entered his mind. There hadn’t been room.

  “What are you doing here?” He pulled away from her, relieved as hell, mad as hell, shaky as hell.

  “I was afraid he was going to ambush you, so I came to help.”

  Only Lottie would think she could stop an ambush. “He almost killed you,” he said.

  She smiled up at him. “But I had a gun. I knew I couldn’t hit him, but I’ve seen you shoot. I never doubted that you could save us.”

  This time.

  He didn’t trust himself to speak. He didn’t trust himself to think. But mostly, he didn’t trust himself to save her. Not always.

  Pulling her hood onto her head, he guided her toward the door. “I’m taking you home, and then I’ll notify the authorities.”

  It was the last thing he said as he walked her through the wet streets to her doorstep.

  “Dyer,” she said, looking up at him with concern, “Come inside, and I’ll return your money.”

  “It’s your money, Lottie.”

  “We both know better.”

  He brushed a smudge of dirt from her face as his mind replayed the horror of her near death in the stable. “I don’t want the money. Use it to take care of your family.”

  “But—”

  “I don’t want the money,” he repeated, turning away from her to slip into the darkness.

  Dawson was dead. Lottie wasn’t. He knew the nightmares about his wife and son would stop now. In their place would be a new one of Lottie with a gun to her throat and him powerless to help her.

  At least she was still alive, and as long as she didn’t place her faith in him, she should stay that way.

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Charlotte? Can’t you eat just a little more?” Dorothy’s concern was well meant but not appreciated. In the two weeks since Dyer had disappeared, Dorothy had fretted over Lottie like a mother hen.

  “I’m fine, Aunt Dorothy.” Lottie nibbled a piece of toast to make her aunt happy, but the dry bread stuck in her throat as she tried to swallow, giving Dorothy something else to fret over.

  “Drink this, dear.” Dorothy handed Lottie a cup of coffee, which she also sipped to appease her aunt.

  “Any letters come for me?” she asked when she’d choked down all the toast, coffee and fretting she could handle.

  Her expression changing to pity, Dorothy shook her head. “Nothing today either.”

  Had she been asking every day? “I wasn’t expecting anything.”

  “Of course not.”

  “Just curious.”

  Dorothy nodded, and Lottie felt despair well up in her again. She’d never been so empty in her life. It was bad enough Dorothy had noticed Lottie’s weight loss. She couldn’t let her see how much pain Dyer’s desertion caused. Obviously, he didn’t want her. Maybe that night in his bed had been the only thing he wanted, or maybe he couldn’t forgive the lies she’d told. Either way, he was gone, and she had no one to blame but herself.

  “What are we going to do about this?” Sally’s voice drifted through the darkness and across the deck of the Belle. Newt hadn’t really thought about it before, but she was one of the few true friends he had in the world. He allowed a moment to contemplate that before he baited her.

  “Don’t know what you mean.” Even though he did.

  She snorted. “You know exactly what I mean, Newt Crawford. That boy’s been in there playing with fire for the last two weeks, and we can’t let him destroy himself.”

  Newt tu
rned away from the river and leaned against the rail. One of the things he liked about Sally was her determination to save everyone she cared for. Shame she didn’t worry about herself the same way.

  “He’s a grown man, Sally. He can take care of himself.”

  “Apparently not.” She put her hands on her hips and tapped her foot. “Have you seen him? He looks awful, and that’s not an easy task for such a handsome man.”

  “What do you expect me to do?”

  “Save him.”

  “From. . . ?”

  She smacked his shoulder. “Himself, of course.” She waggled her finger in Newt’s direction. “You need to go in there and tell him to get himself together and go fetch Lottie.”

  “Me? Why do I have to do it?”

  “Because I’ve tried and he says she almost died because of him, and she’s better off without him.”

  “How do you know she isn’t?”

  She gasped. “I can’t believe you said that. You know he’s as good a man as there’s ever been. Now go in there and talk some sense into that boy. He respects you.”

  “Only because I don’t try to tell him what to do. Men don’t get involved in each other’s business.”

  “Even if they’re trying to destroy themselves?”

  “Especially if they’re trying to destroy themselves. It’s just not the way we do things.”

  “Which explains how you can manage to get so fouled up.” She puzzled her brow for a moment, then smiled. “I have an idea.”

  “Do I want to know what it is?”

  “Meet me here tomorrow morning at nine o’clock sharp.” She spun away and headed down the deck.

  “Do I get to know why?” he yelled to her retreating back.

  “We’re going to do things the right way.”

  “Which is . . . ?”

  She turned back and smiled at him. “A woman’s way.”

  Dorothy hesitated only slightly before she knocked on the door to Charlotte’s room. What she was about to suggest was bold and frightening, but Charlotte needed to snap out of her lethargy. The sadness on her face broke Dorothy’s heart.

  “Charlotte?” She waited for a reply before she entered the room and closed the door behind her. Charlotte sat by the window with a book on her lap, but her tear-swollen eyes didn’t fool Dorothy one whit

  “How are you, dear?” Dorothy sat on the edge of the bed.

  “Fine.” Charlotte’s weak smile only reinforced how not fine she was.

  Dorothy stopped herself from wringing her hands. Charlotte didn’t like it when she did that. Besides, now was not the time to show how frightened she was. She cleared her throat and raised her chin, just like she had seen her niece do when she was about to tackle a problem.

  “I’ve been thinking. Ever since you talked about moving to California, I’ve had a hankering to do just that.” Now, that snapped up Charlotte’s chin.

  “Move?” She shook her head. “That was just to get us away from Mr. Straights. There’s no reason to do that now.”

  The sadness in her voice at the mention of Straights’s name convinced Dorothy more than ever she was doing the right thing. She didn’t know much about the gambler except he had broken Charlotte’s heart, but that was enough to keep him at a distance.

  “The reasons may have changed, but that doesn’t mean it was a bad idea.” She hurried on when she saw the flicker of interest in Charlotte’s eyes. “New Orleans has nothing for us now except constant memories of what used to be. But California would have new people, new opportunities . . . a place where we can make new memories. And—” Dare she say it? “Maybe you can find a man there worthy of you.”

  Charlotte slowly shook her head. “I don’t know—”

  “I’m sure the weather there would be better for your father.”

  Surely God would forgive her for using Harold’s illness to influence Charlotte’s decision. If not, well then, Dorothy was willing to pay for this come judgment day.

  “We can’t miss the opportunity since we now have the money to move.”

  Charlotte’s head stopped shaking, and she pulled her lower lip between her teeth for a moment in thought. “I suppose it’s not a totally ridiculous idea.”

  It isn’t? “Of course not.”

  “But how can we move Daddy without knowing where we’re going first?”

  “I’ve been thinking about that as well.” Lord, Charlotte, you look as though I’ve never had a thought in my life. “Mary and Isaiah Albright are going to California to live with their son. You could go with them and find us a house. As soon as everything is ready, you can send for us, and we’ll join you.”

  “But how would you get Daddy there without me?”

  Dorothy surprised herself with a snort. She didn’t recall ever snorting in her life . . . but it felt kind of good.

  “I took care of your father the entire time you were gone, and we did just fine. Besides, it’s only a train trip. What could possibly go wrong?”

  She certainly hoped the Lord didn’t think she was tempting Him with her last question. At least a million things could go wrong on a train trip, but if she let herself think of that now, she might swoon.

  “Well . . .” Charlotte said.

  She held her breath while Charlotte welled. If this didn’t work, she had no other ideas.

  “All right. Let’s do it.”

  Dorothy exhaled and stood. “I’m so glad you see things my way. Now, get your valise, and I’ll help you pack.”

  “Now?”

  “Yes. Mary and Isaiah are leaving first thing in the morning. We’ll need to get you packed so you can leave with them.”

  “It seems rather sudden,” Lottie said, and Dorothy had to agree, but if she didn’t leave suddenly, it might allow for too much time to change her mind.

  “Nonsense,” Dorothy said with a wave of her hand. “Any woman who could do what you’ve done can pack a bag before morning. I’ll get a valise.” She hurried from the room before Lottie had a chance to argue, though she doubted she would anyway. A person can’t argue unless they care, and lately, poor Lottie didn’t seem to care about much of anything.

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Gaping wasn’t a manly thing to do, but Newt couldn’t stop himself from doing it just the same. “I must say, Miss Summerfield, you look fetching this morning.”

  “And I must say, Mr. Crawford, if I didn’t know better I’d think you were surprised.”

  Surprised didn’t quite sum it up. Stunned, maybe. Shocked as hell, definitely, but not surprised. “You must admit this is not your usual attire.”

  Sally brushed the bodice of her yellow day dress with pristine, white-gloved hands. A matching bonnet sat jauntily on her red curls and just above her paint-free face. It’d been at least two decades since he’d seen her like that. Pity.

  “I didn’t think you’d want to be seen in town with a saloon whore.” Her attempt at bravado would’ve been much more effective if the fear of rejection hadn’t flashed in her eyes.

  He took her hand and placed it in the crook of his arm. “I’d be honored to be seen with you anywhere.”

  She blushed. Imagine that.

  “You are a true gentleman, Newt Crawford.”

  “Would you mind telling this ‘true gentleman’ where you’re taking him this morning?” He led her down the gangplank to the dock.

  “We’re going to fetch Lottie, of course.”

  He groaned. “Sally, you know how I feel about interfering with Dyer’s life.”

  “That’s why we’re interfering with Lottie’s.”

  Why did that sound logical? “Couldn’t you have done that without me?”

  She hesitated. “I—I don’t go into towns much. Genteel folk aren’t too friendly to women like me.”

  The hurt in her eyes lasted only a second, but it didn’t escape Newt. He had this sudden urge to pull her under his wing and protect her.

  “Besides,” she continued, “Lottie listens to you.�
�

  “Why is it everyone seems to listen to me except you?”

  “I listen to you, honey. I just choose to ignore most of it.”

  He chuckled. “I don’t suppose you know the address?”

  She reached into her reticule and handed him a piece of paper. “Got it right here. I told Dyer I wanted to see her before we left New Orleans.”

  “He didn’t say anything?”

  “Not with his mouth, but those eyes said plenty.”

  He started to say that eyes couldn’t talk. Then he remembered how Sally’s had broken his heart a few moments before.

  Their hired carriage arrived at Lottie’s front door too promptly for Newt’s liking. The more he thought about it, the more he was sure Dyer wasn’t going to be pleased with their interference. Might be a good time to retire to that little farm outside of Memphis. Maybe he should start running now . . .

  “Don’t even think about it.”

  Newt raised his brow. “Think about what?”

  “Backing out.” Sally waited for Newt to step out of the carriage and offer his hand in assistance.

  “Why, Miss Summerfield, you insult me with your lack of faith.”

  Newt escorted Sally to the front stoop, where he took a deep breath and soundly rapped the knocker against the door.

  A plump, older woman answered. “Yes?” she said, “How may I help you?”

  Sally took a deep breath, her grip tightening on Newt’s arm. “We’re here to speak to Lottie, er, I mean Miss Charlotte Mason.”

  “She isn’t here at the moment. I’m her aunt, Miss Dorothy Mason. Can I help you?”

  Sally glanced up at Newt for reinforcement, then returned her attention to the aunt. “My name is Miss Sally Summerfield, and this is Mr. Newt Crawford. We’re friends of Charlotte’s, and we need to speak to her.”

  The aunt frowned. “Are you here on behalf of Mr. Straights?”

  “Yes,” Sally said.

  The aunt didn’t seem pleased to hear that answer. She harrumphed, “She’s gone,” and started to close the door.

  “Wait.” Newt stopped the closing door with his foot. Now that they were here, they might as well see this through.

  “Where did she go?” he asked.