There was a portly, balding man behind a counter that stretched in front of a wall with rows and rows of just about everything. There were rolls of fabric, mostly cottons and linens, but there were brocades and silks and satins, too, and smaller rolls of elegant laces. There were sacks of flour and coffee and tea and sugar, and there were sewing goods and farm supplies, leather items, blankets, sheets, canteens. The whole store was composed of shelving, and Shannon saw jars of jams and preserves, pickled vegetables and smoked and dried meats. As small as this town was, it seemed to be a prosperous place.
"Howdy," the portly man said to the two of them.
Malachi grinned broadly, walking up to the man. "Howdy, sir."
"What can I do for you, young man?"
"Well, the wife and I are heading out west. We just need ourselves some food supplies."
"We can take care of that, Mr.—"
"Uh, Sloan," Malachi said.
"Gabriel," Shannon said quickly at the same time.
Malachi frowned at her, his jaw locking. The balding man looked from one of them to the other. "It's Sloan Gabriel, sir," Malachi said. He jerked Shannon over to his side. "And this is my wife, Sara."
The man looked from Malachi to Shannon. Shannon smiled and escaped Malachi's punishing grip, wandering away to look over the merchandise in the store. "Nice to meet you, Mrs. Gabriel."
"Likewise, I'm sure," she murmured demurely.
The man leaned toward Malachi. "My wife's got herself a little tea parlor next door, young man. Maybe the lady would like a cup?" He winked. "And you could take a walk on over to the saloon and have yourself a pint or two."
"That sounds mighty nice," Malachi told him. A saloon was always the best place to hear whatever news was passing around. He looked at Shannon.
"Sweetheart." She was looking at a roll of calico and didn't pay him the slightest heed. He walked over to her, catching her hands and spinning her around and into his arms. "Darlin'! That nice man, Mr.—"
"Haywood," the balding man supplied.
"That nice Mr. Haywood says his wife has a little tea shop next door. Wouldn't you like to have a cup of tea, complete with milk and sugar? It's been a long, hard road."
She smiled sweetly. "Are you going to have a cup of tea, darlin'?" she asked him. She came up on her toes, slipping her arms around his neck.
"I had reckoned that I might have a beer across the way," he told her, his jaw twisting. Her smile had been dazzling, and her eyes were absurdly large and innocent. Her body was pressed tight to his and he could feel all the curves and soft slopes that he had recently come to know so well.
His eyes narrowed. "Careful!" he mouthed. She couldn't be that innocent. She had to know what she was doing to him.
"Why, darlin'," she drawled sweetly. "I don't mind. I'll come over to the saloon with you." She wrinkled her nose up prettily. "I don't rightly care for that nasty old beer, but—"
He untangled her arms from around his neck. "Sweetheart," he said firmly, "you go on and have tea. It might be a rough place. There might be some…talk…I don't want you to hear."
"If you're there, my love, I'm sure that I'll be safe."
"You'll be much safer, sweetheart, having tea."
"But I don't mind hearing talk, beloved."
He was losing control. There was a definite note of irritation in his voice. "Honey love, sometimes a man just don't talk as freely when there's a lady present. You'll have tea."
"But, darlin', I—"
He didn't let her finish. He could hear Mr. Haywood snickering behind him, and he'd had about enough. She was the one pressing it. He pulled her even closer and slammed his lips down hard upon hers in a bruising, punishing kiss. He held her so tightly that she could barely breathe, and that was what he had intended. When he released her, she was silent, gasping for breath. He spun her around so that his back was toward Mr. Haywood and he whispered with vehemence. "Go over and have tea. Now. You ruin this—"
"But I want to hear, too—"
"Go. Now. Smile, kiss me sweetly, and damn you, go have a cup of tea. I mean it, Shannon."
He could hear her teeth grinding, but she went still. Mala-chi spun around. "Next door, you say, Mr. Haywood?"
"Sure thing. The little lady can go right through this door here."
Shannon didn't see a door. Then she realized that even the door was lined with shelves that were filled with merchandise.
"See you soon, sweetheart." Malachi pulled her into his arms, kissing her on the forehead. She longed to slap him, hard. She smiled instead, and threw her arms around him again, rising up on her toes, and quickly threading her fingers through the hair at his nape. She kissed him…
She kissed him with purpose…and with menace, pressing her lips fully against his, and teasing his lip with the thrust of her tongue. Startled, he gave way. She pressed her tongue fully into his mouth, slowly, provocatively, filling it.
Then she withdrew, dropping back on her heels with her body tight to his, rubbing him with the length of it. She saw a dark sizzle in his eyes, but ignored it despite her own breathlessness. She turned to Mr. Haywood and smiled brightly. "Newlyweds, you know!" she explained, flushing and batting her lashes. "I can't bear to see him go, even for a second. It's just been so hard, what with the war and all. The cows scattered, then the fields were trampled, and then the whole ranch was burned down one day. But now we're finally together, heading west, and it is just so hard to let my darlin' out of my sight…"
Both men were silent. Malachi was as stiff as a poker, not saying a word. But when she looked at him, his eyes were narrowed. Real narrow. The way he looked at her caused her heart to jump and shiver, and she decided then to make a hasty retreat. She offered Mr. Haywood another smile and quickly passed through the shelved door that he held open for her.
She found herself in a large parlor. For a moment, it reminded her so much of her home that she inhaled quickly, feeling a little dizzy. It was lovely. A piano stood on a braided rug before a polished wood staircase. Beautiful Victorian chairs sat all around the piano in pleasant angles, a grouping of three here, two there. There was a grouping around the fireplace, and there were lovely little marble-topped tables all around.
"Hello?"
A short, buxom woman with small brown eyes, iron-gray hair and warm, rosy cheeks came through a doorway, wiping her hands on a towel. She smiled at Shannon, then eyed her outfit.
She didn't fit in the beautiful little parlor, Shannon realized. Not in her dusty breeches and checked shirt.
But the woman didn't hesitate long. It was ranch country, farm country, and Shannon's outfit was not completely alien here.
"Hello, miss…"
"Uh—Gabriel," Shannon said quickly. "Sh—Sara Gabriel, Mrs. Haywood. Your husband sent me over."
"Oh, how lovely. Well, do sit down. I'll bring you in some of our finest, young lady." She extended her arm around the parlor. "As you can see, we're not terribly busy at the moment."
Shannon nodded, wondering if they were ever busy. It seemed to be such a small town to support the shop and boardinghouse.
"Sit, sit!"
She shooed Shannon into one of the chairs by the fireplace and disappeared. Shannon barely had a chance to get her breath and look around before Mrs. Haywood was back, carrying a large silver tray. She set it down on one of the marble-topped tables. She poured tea from a pot through a strainer and looked at Shannon. "Sugar, cream?"
"Yes, please," Shannon said.
As Mrs. Haywood continued fixing the tea, Shannon looked over the curve of her chair toward the street. Malachi was just going into the saloon, pushing his way through a set of swinging doors.
"Is that your husband, dear?" asked Mrs. Haywood, following Shannon's eyes.
"Yes," said Shannon, a little grimly.
"Now, now, don't worry about him, Mrs. Gabriel," Mrs. Haywood advised her. She sighed with an expansive smile and patted Shannon's knee. "You're such a pretty young thing, you needn't worry a bi
t. Newlyweds, eh?"
"Er, yes ma'am. How did you know?" Shannon said.
"The war, my girl, the war. Young ladies here and there are snatching up their fellers the second the boys come home. Too many young men dead. Too many young women left without husbands or intendeds. Those who can are marrying quick. Did your husband fight in the war, Mrs. Gabriel?"
"Yes—yes, he did," Shannon said quickly. She prayed that Mrs. Haywood wouldn't ask her any more questions.
She didn't. She pointed to the pastries on the plate. "Meat pies and cinnamon swirls and raisin muffins. And I'm the best cook this side of the Mississippi, I promise you. Help yourself, young lady."
Shannon hadn't known how hungry she was until she bit into the first pie. It was still warm from the oven, and the pastry was fluffy and light and delicious, and the meat was tender and seemed to melt in her mouth. She hadn't had anything nearly so good in ages, and it felt as if she and Malachi had been on the road forever, despite the fact that this would only be their fourth night away. Everything about the parlor felt good, from the elegance of the chairs to the fine food and sweet tea. It was nice to stop, even if Malachi had been his usual dictatorial self when he had refused to let her go to the saloon.
Mrs. Haywood kept talking as Shannon ate. She explained that Haywood was kept busy by the traffic that went through. There were roads all around the town. Some of them went south, Texas way, and some of them went to Missouri, and some of them headed toward the north, while an awful lot of them headed out west. "People are headin' for California, right and left, already. Almost as much as back in '49. The war…it left so many without a home, or without a home they could call their own anymore."
Shannon nodded vaguely. She found herself looking over the rear of the chair, out the curtained windows and across the street to the saloon. Heat suffused through her as she thought of the way she had kissed Malachi in the store, and she wondered why she had done so. If she were playing a game, it was a dangerous one. If she was hoping to taunt him or hurt him, she was risking herself by doing it. She didn't know what had seized her; she didn't seem to know herself at all any more.
Nor did she understand why she was so anxious over the length of time he was staying at the saloon. What was he doing over there?
Drinking it up with the whores, no doubt, she thought, and a flush of anger filled her. She didn't care; it was none of her business.
But she did care. It made no sense. She did care. Maybe it was the idea that he could move on from her to a whore so quickly. Maybe it left her with doubts about her abilities.
She almost bit through her cup with that thought, and she reminded herself fiercely that she really loathed Malachi, loathed him with all her heart, and she had never set out to please him, she had never set out to be with him at all. And she didn't want to be with him now; it was a matter of necessity.
Maybe he wasn't being entertained by a woman at all. Maybe he was in trouble, Shannon thought.
"You two staying the night?" Mrs. Haywood asked her.
"Uh—no, I don't think so," Shannon said. "Ma—my husband, Sloan, wants to keep moving. He says the sooner we get where we're going, the sooner we'll get settled down."
"But a little rest never did nobody any harm, either," Mrs. Haywood said. "Pity, I've got the coziest little room upstairs. Pretty lace curtains, a big wool comforter, a fireplace and—" she winked, leaning toward Shannon ''—I got the most unbelievable hip bath you ever seen up there. It's a two seater, wood and copper, just right for a young mister and his new missus."
Shannon nodded, her face growing red despite herself. "I'm sure it's very, very nice, Mrs. Haywood—"
Mrs. Haywood jumped up, grabbing her hand. "Do come on. Your young man seems to be enjoying himself. You come on up here, and I'll show you my honeymooners' retreat!"
Shannon didn't have much choice. She stared across the roadway one more time, wishing she could give Malachi a good punch right in the gut. What did he think he was doing? Was he enjoying himself at her expense, or…
Was he in trouble?
She wished she knew.
It was a typical saloon, the type that had been cropping up in Kansas ever since the white man had first started to claim the land. Two men served behind the bar, and a beautiful brunette with a feathered hat and shoulderless gown played tunes at the piano. There were two lone drinkers at round tables, and a poker game going on in the rear of the room. Three of the players were ranchers; they had come with their dusty hats and kerchiefs and chaps and spurs, and they were swigging on whiskey bottles. A fourth man seemed to be a clerk or a banker. He was wearing a neat pin-striped suit with a crooked tie and white shirt.
The other two had a somewhat professional air about them. Both wore vested suits and tall hats. One was lean with a thin curling mustache, and the other was heavier set with small, very dark and very alert eyes.
Malachi wandered over to the bar, and one of the barkeeps hurried to serve him. "Beer," Malachi said briefly, throwing a coin on the bar. The man smiled and drew a foaming brew from the tap. Malachi nodded his thanks.
"Passing through?" the barkeep asked.
Malachi nodded again. From the corner of his eye, he saw that the gamblers were being served by a tall, buxom redhead. The sight of the woman gave him a start, and he almost forgot to answer the barkeep. "The wife and I are heading out for California. Seems the only thing to do now." He remembered Shannon's words and added, "We were burned out End of the war, you know. Seems to make sense to up and start all over."
"Yep, seems to make sense. Lots of people heading west these days. You staying in town long?"
"Nope. Just came in to wet my whistle."
The barkeep smiled. "And your wife is over at Mrs. Hay-wood's having tea."
"Yeah, how'd you know?"
"Cause this is Haywood's saloon. His town, really. He entertains the lady folks on that side of the street, and the men on this side. Darned good scam, ain't it, Mr.—"
"Gabriel. Sloan Gabriel."
"Matey. Matey MacGregor. It all seems to come out clean in the wash here. The Haywoods are right nice folks themselves, and that seems to make it all right"
Malachi grimaced. "Yeah, maybe it does." He turned around, leaning against the bar, watching the tall red-haired woman again. He swore inwardly. It was Iris Andre from Springfield, and he did know her.
He thought he should turn around and hurry out of the saloon, but just at that moment, the woman looked up and saw him. Surprise and pleasure appeared on her attractive features, and she straightened, ignoring the poker players, and hurried toward him. She was going to call out his name, he knew it.
"Iris! I'll be damned!" He went to her quickly, hugging her and squeezing the air from her before she could speak. He picked her up to swing her around, whispering in her ear, "Sloan. Sloan Gabriel. Please."
She nodded swiftly—Ms always had been a bright woman. She meant to have her own business one day, and Malachi was sure that when she did, it would be a financial success.
"Sloan!" she said enthusiastically.
"You two know each other, Iris?" the barkeep called.
"Sure do, Matey. We're friends from way back. Sloan, grab your beer and come over here to a table for a moment.''
He'd always liked Iris. She might be a whore, but she was a whore with class. He didn't miss a beat. She was almost as tall as he was, and though she wasn't beautiful, she was attractive with her strong features, blazing red hair, green eyes and regal height.
"Come on!" she urged him, putting him farther and farther into the back. She sat him down at one of the small tables, far away from the others, far away from probing eyes. "Malachi! What the hell fool thing are you doing in Kansas? Wait a minute, don't answer that. Buy me a drink so this will look like business. Matey!" she called out "We'll take a bottle of whiskey over here. The good stuff."
"Coming right up."
Iris dangled her fingers sensually over the back of Mala-chi's hand while they waited
for Matey to come over with the whiskey. When he was gone, Iris lowered her head close to Malachi's. "Malachi! They've got wanted posters up all over the country! They say you were in on a raid with your brothers, that you went into Kansas and shot some guy named Henry Fitz, and that you're wanted on all kinds of other bushwhacking activities, too. I heard about what Fitz did to your brother, so I wasn't too surprised—"
"Iris, I wasn't with Cole, not that I wouldn't have gone with him if I could. But the war was ending right then. I had a whole contingent of men under me, and I couldn't just go running off to Kansas. Cole was a scout. I was regular cavalry. I went where I was ordered to go."
"Malachi." She moved even closer to him. "I know that none of you has done anything to be hanged for, but you don't know Hayden Fitz."
"And you do?"
Iris nodded. "Never met a meaner son of a bitch in my entire life. There's something evil about him. He likes bloodletting, and he likes to watch men die. He's worth money, too, Malachi. Big money. He invested with arms manufacturers during the war and made himself even richer. He owns Sparks—"
"Sparks?"
"The town where he lives. I mean, he owns it." She smiled, waving a hand around. "All right, so the Haywoods own Haywood. But this is a two-bit rest stop, Malachi. Sparks is big. The stagecoach goes through. It's always filled with Conestogas. There's a jail and a circuit court, and if he manages to get you into that jail, he'll hang you, too. You fool! You gotta get out of Kansas."
Malachi shook his head. "I can't. Hayden Fitz sent men to my sister-in-law's place. Cole wasn't there, so they carried her away. I've got to find her."
Iris sat back. "At least you got rid of your Reb uniform," she said softly. "You don't look like the poster so much anymore."
"I still have the uniform," he said, pouring out shots of the whiskey. "It's stuffed in my saddlebags. And my hat— well, I left it out in some bushes. It was kind of hard to part with, you know?"
She nodded. "Old times," she murmured, then she looked at him. "Oh, Malachi!"
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