“But—”
“But nothing,” Matt interrupted irritably. “We tried to find him and we failed. Personally, I’m tired of hauling my ass over half of Arizona. Tomorrow we’re going back to Salt Creek, I’m going to clear my name of that murder charge and get on with my life.”
“But we can’t give up now,” Lacey argued stubbornly. “We’re so close.”
“We’re no closer now than we ever were. I told you before, your chances of finding him were slim, and they’re worse now.”
Lacey squared her shoulders. “Listen to me, Matt Drago, we’re not turning back, not until we find my father. You promised. But if you want to turn back, you just go right ahead. Of course, it’s a long walk back to Salt Creek.”
Matt scowled at her. Stubborn, ornery female. She wanted everything her way. But it was true he had promised to help her find her father.
“Please, Matt.”
He glared at her, his anger slowly draining away when he saw the expression on her face. Damn! She looked like a little girl who had just discovered there was no Santa Claus.
Muttering an oath, Matt gazed into the distance. Assuming that both sets of tracks belonged to the Apache, which group had Lacey’s father in tow (assuming he was still alive), the small group headed for the border, or the larger group headed for New Mexico?
“What is it?” Lacey asked, coming to stand beside him.
Matt gestured at the tracks. “There’s no way to tell which bunch has your father.”
“What are we going to do?”
“Beats the hell out of me. We can’t follow both trails, and while we’re following one set of tracks, the other’s going to get cold.” Matt glanced northward. “It’ll be winter in a few more weeks.”
“And the rain will wash out all the tracks,” Lacey said, finishing his thought.
“Right.”
“Well, we’ve got to do something.”
“Yeah.” Matt walked along one set of tracks for several yards, then crossed to the other. “I don’t know,” he muttered, shaking his head. “He’s your father. You decide.”
“Which direction would you go?”
Matt shrugged. “The Apaches generally spend the winter across the border, and they usually travel in small groups. I’d say go south.”
“South, then,” Lacey agreed.
Matt nodded. Moments later, they were riding toward the border.
Three days later they reached the outskirts of a small town. Lacey objected to stopping, wanting to stay on the trail while it was clear and easy to follow, but Matt was adamant. They needed food. He needed a horse and a better weapon than Lacey’s little derringer. And they were going to need some warm clothing.
Lacey grimaced as they rode down the narrow dusty street. It was an ugly little town. The buildings were run-down and shabby, the paint peeling and faded. She counted four saloons on one side of the street, two on the other. A single hotel was situated in the center of town. There were no houses in evidence, nor did there appear to be a law office, or a church.
“I don’t suppose you’ve got any money?” Matt remarked, and Lacey regretfully shook her head.
“Well, then, we’ll just have to pawn your saddle and hope my luck’s good at the card table.”
“Are you a gambler?” Lacey asked in surprise.
“Only when I have to be.”
“Are you any good?” Lacey asked dubiously.
“Good enough.”
“And what happens if you aren’t good enough? My father paid a lot of money for that saddle. I don’t want to lose it.”
“We’re doing this for your father,” Matt reminded her. “Come on, let’s see how much we can get for your rig.”
Lacey followed Matt into a dingy store between two small saloons. She stayed near the doorway while Matt bargained with the owner, a ruddy-faced man with a bulbous nose and yellow teeth.
They haggled for quite some time. Matt was muttering under his breath when he stalked out of the building.
“Damn thief,” he growled. “Come on, let’s go get some grub.”
There was a tiny restaurant wedged between a saloon and a vacant building near the end of town. Lacey was terribly self-conscious as she followed Matt into the place. No lady would ever dream of appearing in public wearing pants, but Matt had given her no opportunity to change.
She kept her head down as he ordered steak and potatoes for the two of them. The woman who took their order gave Lacey a look of disdain, but she was all smiles when she looked at Matt.
“After we eat, we’ll get a room and get cleaned up,” Matt said, thinking aloud. “And then I’ll go find a card game while you get some sleep.”
“I’m not staving anywhere in this town alone,” Lacey informed him. “I’ll bet the whole place is crawling with outlaws.”
“You’re probably right,” Matt allowed, “but ladies don’t frequent saloons.”
“They don’t ride astride or wear pants, either,” Lacey retorted.
Matt glared at her across the table. What a stubborn creature she was, always wanting things her own way—and getting it.
Their dinner arrived a few minutes later and Matt attacked his steak with a vengeance. It was the first decent meal he’d had in months. The food back in the Salt Creek jail hadn’t been anything to brag about. Considering the circumstances, he supposed he had been lucky the sheriff had fed him at all. He had spent six weeks in that damn cell, waiting for the wagon that would transport him to Yuma. It had been a long six weeks. Nothing to do but pace back and forth, or sit on the edge of his bunk and count the bricks in the wall. Time and time again he had thought about that night in the saloon. And, thinking about it now, he wondered if someone had deliberately set him up to take the fall. He had been a stranger in town. There had only been five other men in the saloon that night, the three men who had accused him, young Billy Henderson, and the barkeep, all long-time residents of Salt Creek. Henderson was dead, and the barkeep had refused to testify except to say he hadn’t seen anything. But the other three men had said enough. More than enough.
Lost in thought, Matt finished the rest of his meal without tasting it. They could have drugged his whiskey, killed the kid, and laid the blame on him. He frowned as he tried to recall that night. Vaguely he remembered talking to Billy Henderson. The kid had been a loud-mouthed braggart, overly proud of his iron, a flashy blue-steel Navy Colt with inlaid pearl handles. Matt remembered telling the kid that a fancy gun didn’t make a gunfighter, and the kid had started boasting about what a crack shot he was. Already killed a man, he had said smugly, and Matt had thought he looked more than ready to kill another one…
“What?” He glanced up as he realized Lacey was speaking to him.
“I said I’m ready to go.”
“Yeah, me too.” Matt dropped a few coins on the table, flashed a smile at their waitress as he picked up his hat, and followed Lacey outside.
“What were you thinking about in there?” Lacey asked. “You looked like you were a million miles away.”
“Nothing,” Matt said.
After leaving Lacey’s mare at the livery barn, they walked along the dusty street to the hotel. The lobby was large and bare. Faded blue and gold wallpaper that might once have been pretty covered the walls. A stout man wearing a red shirt, dirty brown twill trousers, and a black bowler hat stood behind the reception desk. An old Walker Colt was shoved into the waistband of his trousers. A large black cigar was clamped between his teeth.
“Help you?” the man asked in a bored tone.
“I’d like a room,” Matt replied. “And a bathtub, if you’ve got one.”
“There’s a tub in Room 17,” the man said. He took a large brass key from a peg on the wall behind the desk and tossed it to Matt. “It’ll cost you an extra two bits for the tub, and another two bits for hot water. Payable in advance.”
“Fine.” Matt tossed the man fifty cents.
“I’ll have Rosa bring the water up when it
’s hot.” The man jerked a calloused thumb toward the staircase. “Your room’s at the top of the stairs on the left.”
“Obliged,” Matt said.
Lacey felt her cheeks grow hot as the man behind the desk leered at her. Of course, the man had no way of knowing that she and Matt were not married, but she knew. She hurried up the stairs after Matt, wishing they had never come to this place. Everything looked so sleazy, so temporary.
Room 17 was small and square. There was no furniture other than a sagging double bed and a scarred oak commode. The tub stood in one corner, hidden by a garishly painted screen. A cobweb fluttered in one corner of the ceiling.
With a look of disgust, Lacey sat down on the edge of the bed. The barn back in Salt Creek had been cleaner and smelled better than this place. Removing her hat, she ran her fingers through her hair. It would be so good to take a bath and wash her hair. She had never been so dirty in her whole life. Pulling off her boots and stockings, she stretched her legs and wiggled her toes. It was wonderful to sit on something other than a horse or the hard ground for a change.
Looking up, she saw Matt watching her. For a moment she had forgotten he was in the room, but it suddenly dawned on her that she was actually in a hotel room alone with a man who was not her husband—and that there was only one bed. A guilty flush stained her cheeks. No unmarried woman was ever alone with a man. Lacey’s mother had drummed that into her head time after time. That she had been alone with Matt out on the prairie for the last week did not seem near as shocking as the thought of spending one night with him in a hotel room. The bed, the four walls that surrounded them, all conspired to make this setting far more intimate than sharing a campfire.
Matt grinned roguishly at Lacey. It was easy to see what she was thinking. Her consternation at being alone with him in a sleazy hotel room was plainly written across her face.
“You’re the one who said she wouldn’t stay anyplace in this town alone,” Matt reminded her, “but I’ll get another room if it will make you feel better.”
Lacey shook her head. Better to defy convention and spend the night with Matt than spend the night alone in a strange hotel room in a strange town. Moments later, a rather plump Mexican woman entered the room carrying two buckets of hot water. Two sturdy young boys trailed at her heels, each bearing a bucket of water.
The woman glanced at Lacey, then at Matt, and smiled a knowing smile before leaving the room. The boys followed on silent feet.
Lacey gazed longingly at the steaming bathtub, and then glared at Matt. “Well?”
“Well, what?”
“You don’t intend to stay in here while I bathe, do you?” Lacey demanded indignantly.
“I thought you didn’t want to be alone,” Matt replied, stifling a grin.
“You could wait out in the hall,” Lacey suggested hopefully.
“I’ll wait on the bed,” Matt decided. He was sitting down as he spoke, pulling off his boots and socks, wriggling his toes. “The screen will protect your maidenly modesty.”
“But—”
“I won’t look, I promise.”
With an exasperated sigh, Lacey stepped behind the screen and began to undress, listening all the while for the sound of Matt’s footsteps sneaking up on her. Could she trust him to behave like a gentleman? She almost laughed out loud. A gentleman, indeed! The man was a convicted felon, a gambler, and Heaven only knew what else. Reluctant as she was to trust him, the call of the water was too strong to resist, and she sank down in the tub, closing her eyes as the deliciously hot water covered her. Never had hot water felt so wonderful. She soaked a long while, bathed leisurely, and then washed and rinsed her hair. Belatedly, she realized she had neglected to bring a towel behind the screen with her.
“Matt?”
“Yeah?”
He sounded drowsy and she wondered if he had been napping. “I need some towels.”
“Oh.” Was it her imagination, or did he sound suddenly wide awake?
“Could you please throw me a couple?”
“Sure, Lacey.”
“You won’t look!”
“Not if you don’t want me to,” he answered with regret.
“Thank you, Matt.”
“For what?”
“For being so understanding.”
“Yeah.” Matt tossed two towels over the screen, trying not to imagine what Lacey looked like in the bathtub. There was a splash as she stood up, and a sudden heat suffused him as he pictured her standing in the tub drying off, her skin all smooth and sleek, her hair trailing wetly down her back.
Suddenly restless, he began to pace the tiny room, his hands jammed deep into his pockets. How could he spend the night cooped up in this little room with Lacey and not touch her? He hadn’t had a woman for so long, he could probably qualify to be a monk.
Minutes later, Lacey stepped out from behind the screen dressed in her trail clothes, her hair wrapped in a towel. Her skin, washed clean, glowed a healthy golden tan. Her eyes, brown as Mother Earth, were shy when they met his.
“The water’s still warm,” she said. It was difficult to speak when he looked at her like that, his dark eyes dancing with a deep inner fire that she was reluctant to recognize.
“Thanks.” He stepped past her, careful not to touch her. Damn that outfit! It clearly defined every sweet curve of her body. The pants hugged her trim legs and thighs and softly rounded bottom like a second skin, while the shirt clearly outlined her full breasts. His palms were sweaty when he sank into the tub, willing himself to think of something else.
He sat in the bathtub until the water was cold, hoping it would cool his wayward thoughts. Telling himself all the while it was only lust he felt for her, nothing more. Reminding himself that he was far too old for her, and that he was an escaped convict as well.
Nothing worked. The simple fact remained that he wanted her more than he had ever wanted any woman he had known. If only she were older, wiser in the ways of men. But she wasn’t. She was sweet. So damned sweet. And so trusting. It was the only thing that saved her.
He sat in the cold water until the visible evidence of his desire for her was gone. He was in a foul mood when he stepped out of the bathtub and pulled on his shirt and pants.
“I thought you’d drowned,” Lacey remarked when Matt finally emerged from behind the screen.
“Sorry to disappoint you,” Matt muttered irritably.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” Lacey snapped, piqued by his tone.
They glared at each other for a long moment, the electricity between them a palpable presence in the dingy little room. Without quite realizing what she was doing, Lacey found herself admiring the width of Matt’s shoulders. He was so masculine, so handsome now that he had shaved off a week’s growth of whiskers. His jaw was strong and square, his nose straight as a blade. And his mouth… She flushed and looked away lest he guess what she was thinking.
Matt sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled on his boots. “You sure you don’t want to stay here?” he asked, not looking at her.
Lacey glanced around the ugly little room and shook her head. “I’m sure.”
“Then let’s go find a card game,” Matt said curtly, and headed out the door. He had to get out of that little room and away from its very large bed, he thought darkly, away from Lacey before he dragged her into his arms and did something they’d both be sorry for.
Lacey stared after Matt, but he didn’t slow down and he didn’t look back, just stalked out of the room like a man possessed. Fearful of being left behind, Lacey slammed the door and ran after him.
Matt passed by three saloons before he turned into one called the Red Ace. Lacey swallowed hard as she followed him inside. She had never been inside a saloon before, and she could not suppress a rush of excitement as she glanced around. A long plank bar took up most of one side of the room. There were rough-hewn tables scattered around the floor, most of them occupied by men playing poker or faro. Lacey blushed when she saw the pai
nting hanging over the bar. It was of a plump woman with long red hair, bare breasts and long legs.
Lacey quickly looked away, and saw three women she had not noticed before. Saloon girls, she thought disapprovingly, and could not help staring at them. They were all young, dressed in short red skirts, low-cut silk blouses, black net stockings, and high-heeled slippers. One was a blonde, one a brunette, and one a redhead. The blonde was sitting on a man’s lap, nonchalantly smoking a cigar.
“It’s not polite to stare,” Matt whispered, giving Lacey a sharp poke in the ribs. “Behave yourself.”
“But she’s smoking!” Lacey exclaimed. “A cigar!”
“Do you want one, too?” Matt queried, his voice faintly mocking.
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Stay close to me,” Matt warned, serious once more. “And keep your mouth shut. This is a rough bunch, and I don’t want any trouble if I can avoid it. Understand?”
“Yes,” Lacey answered sullenly. “I understand.”
Matt nodded. Then, releasing a long breath, he walked over to the nearest table. “Mind if I sit in?” he asked, nodding at an empty chair.
“Help yourself,” invited a thin man in a light blue shirt and denim pants.
“Obliged,” Matt said, and slid into the chair. Reaching into his pants pocket, he pulled out their meager bankroll and placed it on the stained green baize tabletop.
Lacey stood behind Matt, nervously twisting a lock of her hair between thumb and forefinger. Besides Matt, there were four other men in the game. She felt terribly out of place standing there. Around her she could hear a loud hum of conversation, punctuated now and then by a shriek of high-pitched feminine laughter, or a crude oath as one man or another lost a great deal of money on the turn of a card.
Lacey watched Matt as he put a dollar into the middle of the table. She had no idea how to play poker. Her father had played often, but he had forbidden Lacey to watch, and had refused to teach her how to play when she asked. “Poker’s a man’s game,” her father had declared firmly. “Women and cards don’t mix.”
Matt placed ten dollars in the pot, and two of the men tossed their cards into the middle of the table. With a shake of his head, a third man tossed in his cards, and now only Matt and the man in the blue shirt were in the game.
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