Amanda closed her eyes. For once, she had run out of ideas. And, it seemed, time.
Showgirl. The word snapped to life in Luke’s mind and it suddenly all came together. Haskwell had a showgirl with him—a woman he’d been dragging from Kansas. And this woman certainly bore all the signs of abuse, from her trembling hands to her sad, sweet voice. And if this was the case, and the woman had escaped, it could only mean one thing.
Haskwell was out alone.
Luke sprang out of the chair, horror suddenly filling him. He’d been so outraged by Amanda’s book that he’d put aside the very real threat of the outlaw. And with him gone, Amanda was like a sitting duck should Haskwell go after her.
His heart pounding, Luke ran out the door, grateful that he’d just cleaned his gun that morning. He had a feeling he was going to need it.
“Now sit down on that sofa there, real quiet like.” Sam grinned as Amanda obeyed, her eyes straying to Aesop. She couldn’t tend to him now, couldn’t let her mind be distracted. She had to think clearly, for if she didn’t, it could easily mean her life.
“Good, that’s good.” Haskwell nodded, noticing for the first time this woman’s unusual beauty. Even dressed for bed in a soft nightgown, her hair unbound, she possessed an exotic quality that was as enticing as it was disturbing. It was too bad he’d have to kill her. “You got any prayers to say, darlin’, do it now. I’ve five bullets in this gun, and every one of them is going into your hide.”
Amanda stared into the eye of the gun. She’d lost everything in the last twenty-four hours. Suddenly, her life didn’t mean all that much, but when she thought of the baby—
He came closer. Three inches. Two. Then one. She could feel the cool metal pressing against her breast and she closed her eyes, thinking of Luke, of what she’d tell him if he was here….
It all happened so quickly that she’d remember it later like a blur—a bad dream gone berserk. A gun exploded, but instead of feeling pain inside of her, she felt nothing but a jolt. Her eyes opened, and she saw the gun fall from Haskwell’s hand, saw him grab his wrist as if in pain. Blood was everywhere. Haskwell’s hand dripped with spidery red webs; it smeared the carpet and ran on the floor. Amanda looked up in shock, unable to make sense of it all, and saw Luke. Relief flooded through her. He’d come for her, like he always did.
“Luke, he’s going to kill me, he—”
“Amanda, get the hell down!” Luke’s face was contorted with emotion, so much so she hardly recognized him. But she recalled that note in his voice and instinctively obeyed. Dodging behind the sofa, she heard rather than saw Haskwell scramble for his gun.
“Give it up, Haskwell,” Luke warned. He cocked his gun for a second shot.
Haskwell managed to grab hold of the weapon. Instead of firing, he surprised Luke and lunged forward, knocking the gunslinger off balance. Luke recovered quickly, but not soon enough. Haskwell crawled like a vermin out of his path, and within seconds, he had Amanda once more. Panting triumphantly, one arm wrapped around her waist, he pressed the gun to her head.
“You sonofabitch,” Luke said in frustration. He wanted to kill the despicable outlaw, but the man held Amanda. “Let her go.”
“I’ll kill her now, laddie.” Haskwell’s brogue deepened. “Either you get out of the way or she’s dead.”
“Don’t listen to him, Luke,” Amanda sobbed. “You can’t let him get away. He’ll kill someone else.”
Haskwell dragged Amanda to her feet. Blood ushered forth from his gun hand, but at this close a range he could shoot just as well, and they all knew it. He backed up to the window, his face pale, but his eyes were still sharp and focused.
“It’s me or her, lad. Either you let me go, or I’ll kill her.”
Rage shot through Luke, but he couldn’t let him kill Amanda. Slowly, he lowered the gun, fighting the urge to shoot. But he couldn’t risk it. If he missed or if Haskwell responded quickly enough, Amanda would die.
Haskwell stepped through the window, releasing Amanda so suddenly that she tumbled forth, her nightdress stained from his blood. In that instant, he fired, trying to kill Amanda, but Luke returned the shots. The stillness was broken by a howl of pain. Hopeful, Luke scrambled to the window, but Haskwell had already mounted his horse and disappeared into the night. The outlaw was gone.
The taste of whiskey burned Honey’s tongue, but it felt so good. It numbed the pain inside of her that had grown to such a constant throb that she noticed only its absence. And now, when the liquor anesthetized the ache, she found she could actually smile.
She was free. God, she was free. Lifting a fourth amber glass to her lips, she downed the whiskey, delighting in the heady, hot sensation. She put the shot glass down, then breathed in the smoke-filled air of the saloon, a smell that seemed as wonderful to her as the scent of a fragrant meadow.
“Better take it easy there, doll.” The barkeeper warned. “That’s ninety-proof rot gut. It’ll eat a hole right through you.”
“I don’t care.” Honey smiled. “Barkeep, did you ever wish for just one thing, and wish it for so long that it almost seems like it happened?”
“Yes.” He stopped polishing a glass and placed it on the edge of the bar, giving her a speculative glance. “Now what could a pretty lady like you want that she doesn’t already have?”
Honey grinned drunkenly. There was an odd look in her eyes, and the barkeep moved the whiskey bottle away from her.
“I think you’ve had enough. Maybe you should wander on home.”
“I can’t.” Honey shrugged, nearly tumbling from the bar-stool. “I’ve got something to take care of.” She slid to the floor, then walked slowly across the room in the precise way of the inebriated. She stopped by the seat of a randy cowboy, teasingly ruffled his hair, then spoke in a low, exotic whisper.
“Give me a bullet and I’ll sing you a song.”
The cowboy obeyed, handing her a fistful of ammunition. Honey pocketed the bullets, then crooned to him as she sauntered out the door. The barkeep shook his head, then resumed polishing his glasses.
She ventured out into the night, and stood in the middle of the road, admiring the stars and the bright, full moon. They looked so lovely up there in the sky, she thought. It had been so long since she could admire a moon, or see the night sky without being afraid….
A horse whickered as she stepped inside the barn. It was dark here, with no starlight. Sitting on an empty barrel just past the entrance, she could see the stableboy sleeping above her and the doorway framed by black velvet.
He returned just as she knew he would, leading his own horse quietly into the stall. He would be going now, returning to his room for his clothes and other personal belongings, and to see to her. Honey had to suppress a giggle. He wouldn’t find her dead—no, not this time.
“What was that?” Haskwell’s brogue rang out in the stable as he glanced up, his senses as acute as an insect’s antenna. His eyes widened with shock as he saw her, walking slowly toward him. He could smell the whiskey, but saw no intoxication in her eyes, no drunkenness, nothing but a deadly purpose. He tried to smile.
“It’s you, darlin’. I thought—”
It was as far as he got. Honey aimed the gun at his crotch and pulled the trigger. Blood spattered his pants in a thick red stain. Haskwell’s face went dead white and he grabbed himself in shock and pain, while a scream ripped from his mouth. Another bullet entered his head, effectively silencing him. He fell to the hay, those horrible black eyes forever stilled, his gun falling impotently to the stable floor.
Honey dropped the matching gun. She didn’t need it now; she never would again. She saw the terrified stableboy rush out for the sheriff, but that didn’t trouble her either.
There wasn’t a judge in the world who would convict her.
Amanda collapsed to the sofa as Haskwell disappeared. Relief washed through her—overwhelming relief and gratitude. Haskwell hadn’t hurt either herself or Luke. He was gone, true, but there was time n
ow to call the sheriff. They’d had a narrow escape, but somehow had been given a second chance.
Luke’s face with tight with anger. “I thought I told you not to be alone.” His harsh voice startled her in the silence, and Amanda struggled to come up with the right reply.
“I know. But Pedro had the night off, and I didn’t think—”
“Dammit! For someone with so much brains, why is it you never think? Where is Juan? Why didn’t you ask Aileen—” He stopped short at the sight of Aesop’s little body, his good wing crushed by a bullet. “Oh my God, what happened to him?”
“Haskwell,” Amanda answered, accepting the little bird from him. “He shot him.”
Luke’s face darkened and he turned quickly toward the door, flung it open and shouted for Juan. The stableboy appeared, yawning sleepily. He stopped in surprise as he saw Luke’s face and he rushed forward, nearly tripping over his feet.
“Senor? Is something wrong? I heard shots…”
“Go to the next ranch and ask Jake and his wife to come out here. Now.”
Juan didn’t wait to question further, but ran across the yard to do his bidding.
They waited in silence until the neighbors came. Amanda sat alone on the couch, binding up Aesop’s wing and feeling as if everything inside of her was breaking into little bits. She’d been wrong about Luke, wrong about everything. He hadn’t forgiven her for writing the book, she could tell by the way he looked at her—right through her, she corrected her thoughts. And now, he’d had to walk away from the quest which had taken up much of his life to save her. It must have been ignominious for him to let the outlaw walk, and he could only resent her even more.
He stood at the window, his back to her, his shoulders broad and tight. With more feeling than she’d ever experienced before, Amanda wanted to go to him, put her arms around him, and try to explain why she did what she did. Couldn’t he understand that she hadn’t meant to hurt him, that she thought she had been honoring him, immortalizing the most important event in her life, by writing about him? Instinctively she knew he’d never understand, and she had no words to explain. She was too torn up herself, her nerves too shaken.
Jake and Aileen arrived a few minutes later. The Irish woman rushed to Amanda’s side while Luke spoke quietly with Jake, explaining what had happened. Jake agreed to stay with Amanda while Luke summoned the sheriff and assembled a posse. Without a word to her, he left, cradling his gun as if aching to shoot.
Somehow, she’d have to get him back.
Chapter
28
Word came back in less than an hour about Haskwell’s death. When one of the vaqueros rode up and informed Jake, Amanda relaxed for the first time in weeks. Haskwell would never hurt her, not now or at any time in the future.
“It’s good news, Amanda,” Jake said quietly, closing the door behind the cowhand while Aileen bustled to the kitchen to brew tea. “As long as Haskwell was free, you would have never known peace. Maybe now Luke can go on with his life.”
Amanda nodded, hand-feeding Aesop from an eyedropper, pleased when the injured little bird accepted her offering. “Luke is free to go on with his life, with or without me,” Amanda said softly.
“He’ll come back,” Jake reassured her, but he had his own doubts. Luke was a private person, not given to emotional displays. Whatever had happened between him and Amanda had cut him deeply, enough to make him leave the ranch. Jake wasn’t one hundred percent sure what had done it, but he had a good idea.
Apparently, so did Amanda. “No, not after Passion’s Price. I don’t think he’ll ever forgive that.”
“Amanda, Luke’s pride is hurt. Give him time, I’m sure he’ll come around,” Jake reassured her.
Amanda gave Jake a look that Luke would have instantly recognized. “There is no guarantee of that, especially now. I’ve made a fool of him with the book, thwarted him in every way imaginable, and stopped him from killing the one man he hated. That’s an awful lot to forgive.”
“Maybe you should help things out a bit,” Jake suggested. “I know it would be hard, but maybe he needs reassurance. It couldn’t hurt to let him know how you feel.”
“I couldn’t. He wouldn’t—”
“You don’t look like the kind of woman who would just give up,” Jake interrupted. “You let him know quick enough when you didn’t want him. I’m sure you can think of a way to do the opposite.”
Amanda nodded. It made sense. And after all, she thought, absently petting Aesop, what did she have to lose?
The whiskey bottle was already diminished by one quarter as Luke refilled his glass, pouring slowly and steadily. He could hear the flow of conversation around him about the outlaw and a dark-haired showgirl named Honey who had quietly waited for the sheriff to arrive, then giggled outrageously when they carried out the bleeding body of Sam Haskwell. Honey was with the doctor now, being treated for shock, and Haskwell was covered with a sheet on the front desk in the sheriff’s office.
Damn! Luke pounded his fist on the bar, ignored by the men around him. Haskwell was dead, he was glad about that. But he hadn’t gotten the satisfaction of killing the man himself. All these years he’d waited until the right opportunity, followed the slug from Virginia to Dodge City, Abilene, and now Texas, only to have to let him go.
He’d hadn’t any other choice. Haskwell would have killed Amanda with no more compunction than stepping on an ant. He couldn’t have let Amanda die, yet the frustration ate at him like a bitter acid. The killer of his mother and sister lay less than fifteen feet from where he sat….
God, how he missed them. For the first time since their deaths, he allowed himself to grieve. He poured over the thousand memories buried in his mind like a living binder of photographs. Suzette, laughing at him when he tried to jump the gate with the old walker. Suzette teasing him when he was sixteen, slicking back his hair for a dance, shredding his adolescent conceit. Suzette as a little girl, trustingly putting her hand inside his coat pocket for warmth and obediently following him to school, knowing that her big brother would always take care of her.
He removed the locket from the chain around his neck, heating the metal within his fingers, and he opened it once more. The calm, sweet face of his mother stared out at him, framed in silver. Somehow he knew that she would have loved Amanda, would have whole-heartedly approved of his decision not to waste another human life over something as petty as revenge. Tears came to his eyes, and he viciously blinked them back as he pictured his mother meeting his wife—a scene that would never happen. But Amanda, with her theories and book learning, her skewed way of seeing the world, would have fascinated Lillian Parker and would have reassured Suzette, who always thought women came too easy for him.
And now Amanda was gone too. Luke snapped the locket shut. He’d cut his wife to the quick. She’d never forgive him for attacking her in the most personal, private way he could—through her books. Now that the initial shock had passed, he could recall some of it, and once more found it wonderful. The first love scene made him see red, but the second and the rest were beautiful—flowing with all the passion of a woman in love. Amanda wrote without Victorian sentimentality, but her work was so much more powerful as a result. Every line glimmered with longing, and if he only hadn’t overreacted, he might have been able to turn that longing into reality.
“…and then he touched me, and every cell in my body cried out for him. Colors began in my mind, bright webs of gold, scarlet, and amethyst, tangling up my thoughts, making me aware that nothing really mattered but him…”
Luke drank down the harsh whiskey. No, nothing really matters now, Amanda. Nothing at all.
Saturday was the night of the Woman’s Committee Christmas Ball. Everyone was going, from the mayor to the vaqueros. The Woman’s Committee had decided on red and green, and had spent the week in a fervor, making sure that the Lone Star Hotel had enough wine, food, and music to ensure the evening’s success.
Amanda stood in front of the mirror,
eyeing herself critically. Although she dreaded going, she knew she didn’t have a choice. With every day that passed, she and Luke grew farther apart. She hadn’t seen him since that horrible night when Haskwell had tried to kill her, but she knew that instead of making the heart grow fonder, distance was solidifying the end of their relationship. That night in the parlor he’d shown her what she meant to him. She had to act now, while the feeling was still strong.
“Amanda, are you sure you want to do this?” Aileen pulled the laces tighter, while Amanda sucked in her breath. The corset shaped her figure to a perfect hourglass, making her body more womanly. Her legs, encased in shimmering black silk stockings, were held up with black lace garters trimmed in red, while a glossy red plume danced from her head like a fiery lance.
“I don’t have any other choice. Luke won’t answer the messages I’ve sent him, and he’s conveniently absent whenever I go to the hotel. This is my last chance.” Amanda gasped for breath, but the corset was made of whalebone and would not give. Accepting the gown that Aileen handed to her, she slipped it over her head, tugging it into place as it settled slickly around her body. “It’s perfect. Where did you get it?”
“Lacey’s,” Aileen said. “She was making it for a saloon girl.”
“Are you sure this is all there is?” Amanda tried to pull up the gown in front, but the dress settled obstinately back into place, revealing a generous quantity of skin.
“That’s it,” Aileen said dryly. “You’re a little more well-endowed than the saloon girl.”
Amanda stared back at the mirror, unable to believe that the reflection was her own. The dress she wore was scarlet, and not a subdued shade at that. Dipping shockingly low in the front, the satin gown was gathered into a full bustle in the back, then pulled up on the side to reveal a shapely leg. Red rouge dotted her cheekbones, looking stark and out of place on Amanda’s naturally pretty complexion, and black kohl rimmed her eyes. She looked seductive, enticing, and experienced—like a high-priced harlot.
Wild Is the Night Page 31