Susan Amarillas

by Scanlin's Law

  In a hushed voice she said, “Exactly. But don’t ask me who, ‘cause that I don’t know. I only know a piece of everything I earn, everything the house makes, everything everybody makes, goes so we can keep in business.”

  “Pretty slick,” Luke said in a tone of admiration. “I’ll bet there’s a lot of money goes through here in a week.”

  She nodded again. “But it’s worth it. Everybody pays, and everybody’s happy. Lord knows it’s the first place I worked where I ain’t worried about getting arrested all the time.”

  He saw her glance around, as though checking the crowd for prospective clients. He didn’t want to lose her. So he pressed the conversation to keep her interested.

  “So how do they know who to pay? I mean, anyone could show up with his hand out.”

  She eyed him suspiciously. “Say, how come you wanna know so much?”

  “Oh, just naturally curious, I guess.” He gave a one-shoulder shrug. “Besides, like I said, when I get back to Texas I wanna explain this to a couple of boys I know who are running a saloon in Amarillo.”

  She seemed to consider this.

  Damn. He’d pushed too hard, and now he’d lost her. What the hell was he thinking about?

  She shifted in her chair. “I like you, honey,” she told him, resting her chin on the curved back of the chair.

  “Well, thanks. I like you, too.” Take it slower.

  Another waitress sashayed past, running her hand provocatively along Luke’s shoulder as she did. He smiled.

  “Yup,” he mused out loud. “I think a man could get to like being in the saloon business.”

  The woman seated across from him chuckled. “Yeah, I hear it gets mighty cold down your way in the winter.”

  Luke nodded. “That’s why a couple of us was thinking about doing something...different. You think we could make some money at it?”

  “Sure, honey. If you do, send me a letter and I—” She stopped abruptly, her gaze focused on someone or something across the room.

  Luke followed her line of sight and realized she was looking straight at one of the two men he’d been watching earlier.

  “Someone you know?”

  “Yeah,” she said, in a quiet tone that seemed more fearful than anything else. “My, ah...gentleman friend. He doesn’t like me spending too much time with one man. Leastways not down here.” She snatched up the gold piece and dropped it in her cleavage. “I gotta go.” She lurched to her feet.

  She hesitated long enough to say, “Thanks, cowboy. It’s nice to talk to someone for a change without being... Thanks.”

  Luke watched her make her way through the crowd. When she reached the man, he grabbed her hard by the wrist and pulled her down on her knees next to him. Luke couldn’t hear the words, but he could see the fear in her face and the rage on the man’s.

  Whores weren’t known to keep the best company, he told himself. It wasn’t any of his concern. Without thinking, he polished off his drink and stood to leave. He spared the girl one last glance. It was then that he saw the man hit her.

  Her scream was hardly noticed by those in the saloon. Luke noticed, though. Damn. He kept moving toward the door, but then he saw the man drag her to her feet and hit her again.

  Son of a bitch. He didn’t care if she was a whore—he didn’t stand for men brutalizing women. He’d seen enough of that at home. Before he realized what he was doing, Luke shouldered through the crowd.

  “Hey!” he snarled. “Let go of the lady!”

  The man cut him a glance. “Ain’t no lady here.” He gave an ugly sort of laugh and turned back to the woman, giving her a teeth-rattling shake as he did. “Next time I tell you to do something, maybe you’ll remember.” With that, he made to strike her again.

  “Don’t.” Luke grabbed the man’s wrist. “Not if you want to see morning.”

  All eyes suddenly focused on the two men. No one moved. The place was quiet as a church on Sunday.

  The saloon girl gazed up at Luke. Blood pooled at the corner of her mouth. “It’s...it’s all right, mister. Really,” she added tearfully.

  Luke ignored her plea. “I’m not going to repeat myself.” His voice was deadly cold.

  The man continued to hold her, predator-tight. His free hand drifted conspicuously near the Colt tied to his wool-clad thigh.

  “Back off, you two!” the bartender hollered. “I ain’t havin’ no trouble!”

  “No trouble,” the man repeated loudly, in a threatening tone.

  “You son of a bitch,” Luke said, in an equally threatening tone, “you’re buying more trouble than you ever thought existed.”

  The saloon girl squirmed, trying to free herself. She clawed at the man’s hand. “Please, honey, let me go.”

  “Shut up, Millie,” the man returned, with a sharp shake to make his point.

  Luke narrowed his gaze. “Well, it’s up to you.” Luke’s tone was calm, more annoyed than worried.

  That seemed to give the man pause. He looked around for his friends, as if needing reassurance that they were there to back him up.

  Luke stood alone. His hand steady near his .45, he knew his only trouble would be the man in front of him, or the other one, who was trying to edge into the shadows.

  “Stand still,” he said flatly.

  Startled, the man obeyed.

  Finally the one holding on to the girl said, “Mister, just who the hell are you?”

  “I’m the last man you’re going to see if you don’t let go of the woman—now!”

  The man’s eyes widened, and slowly he released his hold. The girl snapped free and ran toward the wall.

  “A wise decision,” he said. With his gaze still locked on the man, Luke said, “Lady, why don’t you take a walk for a while, until things cool down or sober up?”

  She made a beeline for the front doors.

  “What’s this to you?” the man asked, more puzzled than afraid now that he’d released the girl.

  Luke grabbed a fistful of jacket and dragged the man halfway across the table. “I don’t like bullies or cur dogs. You, you mangy son of a bitch, are both. Don’t you ever let me see you hit a woman again.”

  Luke released his hold so abruptly the man sprawled on the table with a groan.

  Luke backed away, then turned and went out the door.

  He swung up in the saddle, and was about to turn away when a small voice stopped him. “Cowboy.”

  He turned to see the woman, her face already turning blue on one side. His hand curled into a fist, tightening on the rein enough to make the horse shy.

  “You okay?” he asked, even though the answer was obvious.

  She nodded.

  He’d have liked to help her more, but he knew she’d probably go right back in there. There were a lot of things he didn’t understand about women, and this was sure one of them.

  With a cautious glance around, she came closer. Her hand resting lightly on his knee, she craned up to look at him. “Thanks. No one’s ever done anything like that for me before. If I can ever repay—”

  “You’re welcome. Take care of yourself, Millie.”

  Her smile turned into a grimace, and she touched her cut lip. “Thanks, cowboy.”

  He touched two fingers to the brim of his hat, then reined over and rode for home.

  Chapter Eight

  Rebecca tried to convince Ruth to have dinner in her room. She was willing, even eager, to dine alone with her mother-in-law. It had nothing to do with avoiding a certain handsome marshal. No, she was merely trying to be thoughtful, considerate.

  Unfortunately, Ruth had other ideas.

  “Rebecca,” she said, obviously surprised, “I appreciate what you’re saying, but I’ve been cooped up in this room for two days, and it’s about all I can stand. Besides,” she continued as she pulled her wrapper from the wardrobe, “it wouldn’t be polite to leave Marshal Scanlin alone.”

  “I’m certain the marshal wouldn’t mind. I mean, he’d understand,” Rebecca
went on smoothly.

  “Nope.” Ruth was already slipping on her brown-and-white-striped wrapper. She did up the two dozen large bone buttons down the front and tied the sash. “I may not be up to wearing corsets, but I’m looking forward to getting out of this room.” She adjusted the wrapper’s high collar and long sleeves, then started for the door. “You coming?” It was a rhetorical question, and she disappeared out the door as she spoke.

  With a sigh of resignation, Rebecca hurried out, and they entered the dining room together. The room was cast in early-evening shadows of blue and purple. On the sideboard candles flickered, reflected in the polished silver holders. Three places were perfectly set at the far end of the table, white china and fine crystal on blue linen.

  But Rebecca wasn’t appreciating the Wedgwood. No, her gaze went instantly to Luke. She hadn’t seen him since that little scene this morning, which had been fine by her. She didn’t have another vase to offer up to the god of bad temper.

  Luke was by the window, seemingly unaware of their presence. His dark outline was perfectly silhouetted against the white lace curtains.

  His forest green shirt was pulled tightly across his broad shoulders, and his denim trousers fit snugly down the length of his legs. She saw him run one hand through his hair, in a gesture of thoughtfulness, or perhaps annoyance—she wasn’t certain which.

  What was he thinking about? Was he thinking about the kiss they’d shared, about them being in each other’s arms? Her pulse moved up a peg, and a delicious shiver prickled the flesh on the backs of her legs.

  Stop it! she cried inwardly. What difference does it make?

  None, she told herself, her chin coming up in a defiant gesture. Whatever Luke thought or wanted or expected didn’t matter, not one whit. She was in charge. This was her house. Her life. And she was smart enough to never, ever, make the same mistake twice. He was not to be trusted. Besides, to let him get too close was to risk a great deal more than her heart.

  “Good evening.” Ruth’s voice broke the silence, and Luke turned.

  His smile was immediate, and devastating to her aching nerves. Discreetly, she dragged in a calming breath.

  “Good evening to you, ladies,” he said, helping Ruth with her chair. “Nice to see you up and around. I guess this means you’re feeling better.”

  “I am.” Ruth scooted her chair in and craned her neck to look around at him.

  Rebecca eyed him suspiciously as he helped her with her chair. Where had he been all day? she wondered, then chided herself for wondering.

  A shadow of beard grazed his chin, and his eyes were a little red. When she turned slightly, there was the distinctive aroma of...whiskey. Her eyes widened. Whiskey and... She crinkled her nose, testing. Whiskey and cheap perfume.

  Why, that—

  Anger stirred. Here she’d been fretting and fuming and worried about seeing him again, and all the while he’d been out getting drunk and who knew what else.

  It was the “what else” that made her straighten, made her lips pull back into a thin line.

  Her temper, the one she’d thought she’d banished, returned to a full boil. The man had the morals of an alley cat. Not that she cared. She most certainly did not care. It was outrage, not jealousy, that made her stomach clench. Obviously, when he said he wanted her, he’d meant immediately. When she didn’t acquiesce, he’d gone out and found someone else to satisfy him.

  Just like before. He would get what he wanted, then move on—or, in this case, move on when he didn’t get what he wanted.

  Well, there was a certain satisfaction in that, anyway, she added rather smugly.

  If he noticed her staring, he didn’t acknowledge it.

  Ruth continued speaking. “Thank you for your concern, Marshal. And thank you for your able...assistance. Up the stairs, I mean. Rebecca told me it was you who gallantly came to my assistance.”

  “Why, ma’am—” he chuckled as he joined them at the table “—having a lovely lady in my arms is always a pleasure.” His grin was roguish, full of boyish charm that, judging by the sudden pink blush on her cheeks, Ruth wasn’t immune to.

  Damn the man. He’d been here less than two days, and already he’d charmed every woman in the place. Well, not every woman. Not her. Not Rebecca Tinsdale. No. She was immune to his charms.

  With a sharp snap, Rebecca opened her napkin and plopped it down on her skirt. The blue linen blended with the darker blue of her skirt. Let’s get this over with, she thought sharply, and rang the dinner bell so hard it was a wonder the fine crystal didn’t crack.

  Right on cue, Mrs. Wheeler appeared with a platter of roast pork ringed with oven-browned potatoes that smelled every bit as good as it looked.

  “I made extra,” she said, with a little smile very much directed at Luke. “It’s nice to have a man to cook for again.”

  “Mrs. Wheeler,” Rebecca said flatly, more than a little disgusted, “you may finish serving.”

  “What?” Mrs. Wheeler looked a little flustered. “Oh, right away, ma’am.” With a sniff and a cough that sounded more like a choking puppy, she hurried into the kitchen and promptly returned with a basket of biscuits and a bowl of green beans cooked with fat back.

  The food smelled wonderful, but Rebecca didn’t have an appetite. Wordlessly she passed the platter to Luke. Their fingers brushed, and for the barest of moments their gazes met and his lingered, amusement dancing in his dark eyes, as though he knew of that little scene in her office after he left.

  “So, Marshal,” Ruth began as she put her napkin on her lap and accepted the bowl Rebecca passed to her, “what news do you have about my grandson?” She passed the bowl without taking any green beans.

  “Nothing yet.” His expression was grim, serious. “I don’t know if Becky has told you, but with certain new information—” he shot her an exasperated glance but didn’t mention their little discussion “—I’m convinced that someone has taken the boy—kidnapped him.” Softly, sincerely, he continued. “I’m sorry to be blunt, but there’s no sense trying to hide the truth. If I’m right, and my gut tells me that I am, then all we can do is wait.”

  Ruth nodded, seemed to consider what he’d said. “There must be something more we can do.”

  Rebecca looked up hopefully.

  Luke shook his head. “I suspect we’ll be getting some sort of ransom demand. I’ve checked at the police station for similar crimes, men with histories of kidnapping or—” Child murder, he was about to say, but thought better of it. “Anyone who might seem a logical suspect.”

  “And?” Ruth asked.

  Luke shook his head again, raking one hand through his hair as he did. “And nothing, I’m sorry to say. I spent the afternoon on the Barbary Coast, looking around.” He didn’t mention that he now believed that Rebecca was right about the corruption. “It’s a waiting game.”

  “A game,” Rebecca snapped, days of fear and anger over her son’s disappearance merging with fear and anger over her unwanted attraction to Luke. The feelings were too intense, too great, to be contained, and she needed to lash out at someone. “Is that what this is to you? Some kind of game? We’re going insane here, trying to get through the hours, scared that every passing minute means Andrew is—” Tears pooled in her eyes and slid down her cheeks. She swiped them back with the heels of her hands. “We’re terrified, and you...you are out drinking and...and whoring.” She surged to her feet and threw her napkin down on the table.

  Luke mirrored her stance. “I was not out whor—”

  “Don’t deny it!” She raked him with a disdainful stare. “You can’t deny it. Damn you, Luke.” She swiped at her tears again. “Damn you for doing this...again.”

  Anger clenched and unclenched in her stomach until she thought she would scream if she’d didn’t get out of there. Her gaze flicked to Ruth. “I’m sorry.” Her voice cracked. “I can’t—”

  She strode from the room.

  Luke watched her go, then turned an entreating stare on Ru
th, who was watching him intently.

  “I have not been out drinking and whor— Sorry. But I haven’t.” He dropped down in the chair, the wood creaking from the sudden weight. “Dammit,” he muttered, more to himself than to Ruth. “I’ve been on the Barbary Coast trying to gather information. I found out that she’s right. It looks like there are bribes being paid to officials. Now I just have to find out who and when and how much. I have a real strong feeling that the bribery and the articles in the paper and the kidnapping are connected.”

  Ruth leaned forward, her arms on the edge of the table. “Are you certain?” She tilted her head to one side. “How?”

  But Luke was only half listening. Jaw clenched, he had his gaze fixed on the doorway. Dollars to doorknobs this was about that kiss, both those kisses. This was about her and him. But what the hell was she so angry about?

  She liked the kisses. And just about the time things were getting intense, she’d haul off and pull away, like she was scared, or like she was hiding something, something she was afraid of revealing if her guard was down. But what?

  He decided to find out.

  “Marshal?” Ruth’s voice stopped him halfway out of his chair. “How long have you and Rebecca known each other?”

  The question came out of the blue, and he was momentarily taken aback. “What? Oh, I knew her... We knew...” A little too biblical, he thought, and started again. “We were friends, oh, going on eight years ago now, I guess.”

  “You know, Andrew has a birthday coming up in a couple of months.” Her tone was completely nonchalant, and she reached for a biscuit as she spoke. “He’ll be eight.”

  “Really? A December baby, huh?” He smiled. “I know you’re worried sick about him, and I can’t blame you a bit.” His gaze flicked to the doorway again. “You know if there was something more to do, I’d do it.”

  “I know, Marshal,” she told him sincerely. “And so does Rebecca. It’s just that things have been difficult for her, especially since Nathan died.”

  “I’m sorry about your son’s death, ma’am,” he said softly, with great sincerity. “I know what it’s like to lose someone you love.”