LaceysWay
Page 27
“Good evening, my dear,” he said with a sneer. “Have you no welcome for me, no kiss of greeting?”
“Welcome home, J.J.”
“No kiss?”
Awkwardly she rose to her feet and pressed her lips to his. He grabbed her when she would have drawn away, his arms like steel bands around her waist.
“Willingly and with a smile,” he taunted. “Remember.”
“J.J., you’re hurting me.”
“You’re mine,” he growled. “Not his. Mine!”
Lacey stared up at him, seeing the jealousy blazing in his eyes, smelling the whiskey on his breath, tasting it as he kissed her again, his mouth hard and cruel as though he wanted to hurt her. She uttered a little cry of pain as his mouth crushed hers.
“I’m tired of waiting for that brat to be born,” he rasped as he backed her against the wall and fell against her. “I’ve been patient, Lacey. Haven’t I been patient? But I’m not made of stone.”
She tried to push him away, but he was too heavy, too strong. “J.J., you promised!”
“You’d let him, wouldn’t you? You wouldn’t tell Drago no.”
“J.J., leave me alone!”
He laughed harshly as he backed away from her, and for a minute she thought she had won. But then he swept her into his arms and carried her down the hall to his room and closed the door.
“You’ve never been in my room before, have you?” J.J. mused.
Lacey did not answer him. She was too frightened of what she knew was going to happen. Afraid to say or do anything that would make J.J. angry, she shook her head.
“It’s…it’s a nice room,” she stammered.
“I want you to sleep in here from now on,” J.J. said. “No more separate bedrooms.”
She saw the look in his eyes and she dared not refuse, nor did she object when he placed her on the bed and began kissing her. She felt his hands fumbling with her gown, felt his mouth on hers, his tongue sliding across her lips, and she was filled with revulsion.
“J.J., stop,” she gasped. “I’m going to be sick.”
“It won’t work,” J.J. said. “Tonight you’ll be mine.”
With a groan, she pushed him away, then turned her head and was violently ill. Her stomach heaved until it was empty and sore, and then she curled up on the bed, hardly aware that J.J. was suddenly sober, or that he had called for Susanne. He left the room while Susanne helped Lacey get washed up and into a clean gown. Lacey sat on the window seat while Susanne quickly changed the bedclothes, then helped Lacey into bed.
“Thank you,” Lacey murmured.
“Can I get you anything?” Susanne offered. “A glass of water, or a cup of tea, perhaps.”
“No, thank you. I’d just like to be alone.”
Susanne smiled. “You’ll feel better once the baby is born. You’ll see.”
“Yes,” Lacey agreed. How could she explain that it wasn’t the baby making her ill, but J.J.’s touch?
Alone, she let the tears come. “Is this what I deserve, Matt?” she whispered to the darkness. And heard only silence in reply.
Chapter Seventeen
Matt Drago smiled as he laid his cards on the green baize tabletop, face up.
“Four queens,” muttered Troy Blackburn. “Damn! I thought sure you were bluffing.”
“Not this time.” Matt plucked a five-dollar gold piece from his winnings and dropped it down the ample cleavage of the raven-haired woman sitting on his knee. “For bringing me luck,” he drawled softly.
“Anytime, hombre,” Consuelo replied. She ran her hand along the inside of his thigh. “Anything, anytime.”
“The pot’s light, Drago,” complained Tom Sully. “You in or out?”
“I’m in.” He threw ten dollars into the pot, picked up his cards as they were dealt to him. He had a pair of kings, a jack, a ten, and a deuce. Not bad. He grinned as Consuelo pressed a kiss to his cheek. She was a pretty thing, with huge brown eyes and a voluptuous figure that bordered on plumpness.
“Dammit, Matt,” growled Blackburn. “You gonna make love or play poker?”
“Sorry.”
“Sorry, hell. You in or out?”
“I’m in.” He slid another ten dollars into the pot.
“Cards?”
“Two,” Matt requested. He tossed the ten and the deuce onto the table, picked up his new cards. A jack and another king. Lucky at cards, unlucky at love. The phrase whispered in his mind as he raised his bet by another ten dollars. He had been in this town for over a month, drinking and gambling and trying to forget a woman with red-gold hair. After leaving Salt Creek, he had wandered aimlessly from one town to another, never staying long in any one place until winter came, and had decided to hole up here for no other reason than that he liked the town’s only saloon. He had been playing poker with Blackburn and Sully long enough to know that Blackburn would bet on anything, and that Sully could out-bluff anybody. They were all gamblers; they all knew the tricks of the trade, and it made for some of the most exciting poker Matt had ever played. So far, he figured he was ahead of the game by about eight hundred dollars.
Consuelo squealed with delight as Matt raked in the second pot in a row, and stuffed a handful of greenbacks into her bodice. He was easily the most handsome and most thoughtful man she knew. The other girls in the saloon were jealous because he never paid them any attention, never took them upstairs. Of course, he never took Consuelo upstairs, either, but he let her sit on his lap, and he showered her with hugs and kisses and cash. All in all, it was a very satisfying arrangement. She had tried many times to lure him into her bed, but he always refused. That mystified her, for he was obviously a virile man, one who liked women. And he liked her, she was certain of that.
She smiled as he kissed her cheek. “How about bringing me a beer?” he asked, and she slid off his lap and walked to the bar, swinging her hips provocatively in case he was watching her. Maybe tonight, she mused. Maybe tonight.
Matt played poker until well after midnight; then, pocketing his winnings, he took his leave of Blackburn and Sully, kissed Consuelo good night, and left the saloon.
It was raining outside, a cold steady drizzle that had turned the streets to mud. Pulling his hat down over his face, he hunched into his coat and walked down the dark street. As always, once he was alone his thoughts turned to Lacey. No matter how far he rode, no matter how much he drank, he could not forget her.
Lacey. He remembered how she had ridden at his side, uncomplaining, while they searched for her father. He remembered her tender concern when he was hurt, her shy sensuality the first time they made love, her courage in the face of danger and death. His need for her was a constant gnawing ache, a pain that refused to be dulled by time or distance. He had loved her as he had never loved anyone, and she had betrayed him in the arms of another man.
Damn. Why couldn’t he forget her? Abruptly he turned on his heel and walked swiftly back to the saloon. Consuelo was sitting at one of the tables, talking to a couple of the saloon girls, when Matt grabbed her by the arm and hauled her, none too gently, to her feet.
“Come on,” he said tersely, and headed for the rooms above the saloon. It was time to forget Lacey, time to get on with his own life. He had been acting like a love-struck boy long enough.
Consuelo’s huge brown eyes were shining with anticipation as Matt closed the door and took her in his arms. His kiss was hard, brutal, but she didn’t mind.
Matt kissed her for a long time, his hands playing along her rib cage, down her hips, over her buttocks. His nostrils filled with the scent of her, and even as he wrinkled his nose against her cheap perfume and the smell of beer and tobacco smoke that clung to her, he was remembering Lacey. She had smelled clean and sweet, like roses on a summer day.
With a groan of despair, he carried Consuelo to the bed and hastily removed her clothing. Her skin was light brown, smooth, plump, and all woman. He didn’t resist when she began to undress him. He needed a woman, any woman.
Matt swore softly as he gazed into Consuelo’s eyes. He had thought to find relief in the arms of another woman, but it was no use. He might spend his lust between Consuelo’s plump thighs, but he could never satisfy his need for Lacey in another woman’s arms. Not if he lived to be a hundred.
“What is it, hombre?” Consuelo purred, her voice deep and husky, her eyes glazed with passion. She reached for his arm as he started to rise. “Where are you going?”
“I wish to hell I knew,” Matt muttered. He dressed quickly, tossed Consuelo twenty dollars, and left the room.
Where are you going?
Consuelo’s question haunted Matt as he rode out of town the following morning. Where was he going? He was tired of living from day to day, tired of smoke-filled saloons and lumpy beds in cheap hotel rooms. So damned tired.
It was a cold, windy day when he left another two-bit town behind. He rode with no destination in mind, letting the horse pick their speed and direction.
He wound up in a dismal little town south of the border. The place had little to recommend it other than the fact that he’d never been there before.
He’d been there almost a week, drinking and gambling in the town’s only cantina, when Lige Tanner walked through the swinging doors. It took Matt a few minutes to recognize the man. Tanner had grown a full beard and a moustache. His hair was long and unkempt, his eyes wary.
“How’s it going, Lige?” Matt asked.
Lige Turner whirled around, his hand reaching for his gun, his eyes wild. He swallowed hard when he felt Matt’s gun jabbing him in the side.
“I’m surprised you’re still alive,” Matt mused. “My grandmother could’ve beat that draw.”
“What do you want, Drago?” Tanner asked. His voice was scared, like his eyes.
“Thought I’d buy you a drink.”
Tanner looked suspicious. “Why?”
Matt shrugged. “I thought I’d buy you a drink, and you’d give me a little information.”
“I don’t know anything,” Tanner said quickly.
“Why’d Pitman kill Billy Henderson? You were there that night. I want to know what happened.”
Tanner shook his head. “I don’t know nothing.”
Matt reared the hammer back on his Colt. “Who are you protecting, Lige? Who are you afraid of?”
“Nobody, honest. Please, just let me go.”
“It was Tucker, wasn’t it? Pitman pulled the trigger, but it was Tucker who wanted Billy dead. And I happened to be in the saloon at the time, dead drunk, so Pitman pinned the murder on me, and you and Gonzalez backed him up. Right?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t you? Let’s go outside.”
“Why?”
Matt grinned wolfishly. “There’s too many witnesses in here. I don’t want anybody to see me kill you.”
“Wait a minute, dammit…”
Matt nodded. “Now you’re getting smart. Why’d Tucker want Billy dead?”
Lige Tanner swallowed hard. He was looking death in the face and he knew it. J.J. Tucker was miles away, but Drago was here, now, holding a gun to his ribs.
“Billy got nosey,” Tanner said, the words pouring out of his mouth. “He started wondering where J.J. got the money to build the Black Horse. Billy fancied himself quite a detective. He was taking a course by mail, thought he was Sherlock Holmes or something. He started asking questions of some of the old-timers, snooping around where he didn’t belong. He found out who J.J.’s partner had been and, hell, I don’t know how he found out, but he discovered that J.J. and his partner had sold guns to the Indians. I guess that went on for quite a while, until Salt Creek started getting civilized. J.J.’s partner turned up dead soon after that, and J.J. built the saloon.”
“How’d you find out all this?”
“Billy told me one night when he’d had too much to drink. I happened to mention it to Pitman, and I guess he told J.J. I never knew Pitman was going to kill Billy. It all happened so fast. Billy was drunk that night, bragging about how he was going to be a big man in town. He was fast-drawing his gun, showing off. He challenged Pitman to draw against him to see who was fastest. Their guns were supposed to be empty, but the next thing I knew, Billy was dead. Pitman slipped something into your drink when the bartender wasn’t looking, and when you passed out, he fired a round from your gun and called the sheriff.”
Matt grunted softly. “So this all happened because J.J. didn’t want people to know he got his start running guns to the Apache?”
“Yeah. People don’t look kindly on those who sell guns to the enemy. I guess J.J. was afraid the townspeople would string him up, or run him out of Salt Creek.”
“Why’d he kill Pitman?”
“I don’t know. Me and Gonzalez, we got scared. He headed home to El Paso, I think. I been running ever since.”
“Gonzalez is dead.”
Tanner’s face went chalk white. “Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.” Matt drummed his fingertips on the bar top. He could understand why Tucker hadn’t wanted anyone digging around in his past. A lot of the local citizens had lost friends and loved ones during the Indian wars. People had long memories where things like that were concerned. But, more than that, Matt suspected that J.J. had been afraid Susanne might discover he’d hired Pitman to kill Billy. That was why he had killed Toby. He didn’t want to see his sister’s adoration turn to hatred, couldn’t take a chance on Pitman going to court and spilling everything he knew. Only one question remained.
“Who killed Pitman?”
“I don’t know.”
“Don’t know, or won’t say?”
“I don’t know. I swear it.”
Matt slid his gun back in the holster, his eyes thoughtful. “Thanks.” He tossed a silver dollar onto the bar. “Buy yourself a drink.”
“Obliged,” Tanner said. He turned to order a drink from the barkeep. When he turned around again, Drago was gone.
Chapter Eighteen
It was Susanne’s wedding day, and J.J. had spared no expense. Everyone in town had been invited. Following the ceremony, there would be a lavish reception in the town hall. J.J. had hired a six-piece orchestra all the way from St. Louis. There would be food and champagne, and a wedding cake almost three feet tall. Susanne’s dress was exquisite. Made of heavy white satin, it had a high neck and a long, swirling skirt that swished when she walked. The sleeves were full near her shoulders, gradually tapering to her wrists. The bodice was adorned with hundreds of tiny seed pearls set in an intricate design. It was, Lacey thought, a gown fit for a queen, and Susanne looked like royalty when she put it on.
Lacey glanced in the mirror. Her own dress was of a deep rose pink silk. It had a square neck and a high empire waist that helped conceal her thick waist.
She placed a hand over her swollen belly, smiled as she felt her child’s lusty kick. The baby was due in a few short weeks, and she could hardly wait to cradle the child in her arms. It would be a boy, she was certain, a tiny version of Matt that she could hold and love.
Matt. Her love for him had never wavered or diminished, nor had a day gone by that she didn’t think of him. Where was he now? Had he left Salt Creek for good? The idea of never seeing him again still hurt, even after all these months.
She heard the clock downstairs chime the hour. Soon it would be time to go to the church. She could hear Susanne moving about in the next room. It had been painful, helping Susanne get dressed, seeing the happiness that radiated in her eyes. J.J.’s sister was so young, so beautiful, and so happy. Her whole being fairly glowed with the knowledge that she was loved.
“I thought I loved Matt,” Susanne had confided to Lacey earlier that day, “but I know now it was just infatuation. Robert is everything I ever dreamed of.”
Lacey want
ed to be happy for her future sister-in-law, but it was hard to smile when her heart was breaking, hard to know that Susanne was facing a life of happiness with a man she loved while her own life was filled with such misery. And dread. Her child was due in less than four weeks. And already J.J. had started to remind her that he intended to consummate their bargain as soon as possible after the baby was born. He had come close several times, and Lacey had cringed when he touched her. His kisses filled her with revulsion, the touch of his hands on her breasts sickened her. And yet she had promised to be his…his whore if he would get Matt out of jail. J.J. had kept his end of the bargain. He reminded her of that at least once a day. Soon she would have to fulfill her part of the bargain. But she would not think of that now.
With a sigh, she peered at her reflection in the mirror. She looked fat and ugly and unhappy, she thought critically. Perhaps it was just as well that Matt could not see her now.
She whirled around as she sensed someone behind her, gasped when she saw Matt standing near the open window. Mouth open, eyes wide, she stared at him, wondering if he were real, or merely the ghost of her heart’s desire.
“Matt.” He looked well and prosperous. His boots were new, his black trousers and dark blue shirt were of good quality. A gray silk kerchief was loosely knotted at his throat. He wore a black Stetson pushed back on his head. A hand-tooled gunbelt was snugged around his lean waist, the holster holding a pearl-handled Colt .44.
His eyes, as cold and blue as a winter sky, moved over her in a long, sweeping glance. Her hair was piled on her head in a mass of elegant curls, her face pale despite a touch of rouge on her cheeks and the paint on her lips. But it was the expression in her eyes that caught at his heart. They were dull and lifeless, as if all the joy she had ever known had been crushed from her spirit. He almost felt sorry for her, but she had made her bed, so to speak, and if she now regretted her choice, it had nothing to do with him.