Gregory, Jill

by Warm Stranger Cold Night

  Her heart twisted painfully. She knew she ought to be used to that—to living with people who didn't love her. She'd done it all her life. Yet she'd always hoped for more, hoped that if she ever did marry, she'd find someone who would care about her.

  As she swept up the bits of broken china, Maura came to a solemn realization. The time for thinking about herself was past. She needed to think about the baby. What was best for the baby was all that mattered now.

  I guess first I'd better find Quinn Lassiter—and then worry about telling him, she reflected as she hurried back downstairs. Your baby deserves a name—and a home. And some security. Whether he liked it or not, Mr. Rides-Off-at-the-Crack-of-Dawn Quinn Lassiter owed her—and the child—that much.

  On her way to the kitchen with the broom and dustpan filled with china bits, she saw Judd and Homer straddling chairs at a corner table, talking with their heads bent close together.

  They'd been doing that a great deal, the two of them, ever since they'd returned from the poker tournament. But whenever she was near, they abruptly stopped talking.

  She knew they were up to something, but had an uneasy feeling she was better off not knowing. All their lives the boys had done as they pleased, caused plenty of trouble, and dared anyone to do anything about it.

  With no sheriff in town, no one wanted to tangle with the Duncan boys, so no one ever did.

  But something more than the usual bullying and mischief had been brewing ever since they'd come back from Hatchett. Maura was certain of it. She just couldn't imagine what it was.

  And now she didn't have time to wonder about it—or to care. She had to think of the baby. And of a plan for getting out of this town without delay—and on a stage bound for Helena.

  Judd Duncan leaned closer to his brother's ear. "It's all set. At sunup tomorrow, you and me are heading to Great Falls. Heard there's a feller in town who might want to buy what we got to sell."

  "You mean the diamonds?" Homer's eyes had lit up, and in his excitement he spoke louder than he'd intended.

  Judd grabbed his grimy plaid shirt collar and yanked it hard.

  "Keep your voice down, you damned fool. You want everyone in town to hear?" He dropped his voice to a raspy whisper. " 'Course I mean the diamonds."

  "Well, who is this feller?"

  "Rich businessman from San Francisco. Owns two of the biggest brothels in the whole town—keeps 'em stocked with the prettiest women in the West, so they say." Judd's grin split across his face as he tugged the tip of his mustache. "They go around all decked out in fine fancy clothes—till they take 'em off." He chuckled. "He's got himself a mining interest here in Montana Territory, too. Might even open a fancy brothel in Great Falls, I hear."

  "And he's lookin' to buy some diamonds?"

  "Seems he's got a lady friend with fancy taste."

  "Well, it's about time." Homer paused as Maura came up with two plates of cherry pie and cups of coffee balanced on a tray. He waited, leaning forward, his stringy hair falling across his face, until she had disappeared into the lobby. "I mean, what's the point of having grabbed that damned necklace if we can't sell them stones and get rich? We'd best bring 'em along to show this feller, right?"

  "Are you crazy? You want to get our throats slit while we sleep?" Judd's fork clattered to his plate as he threw his brother a contemptuous glance. "I'm too smart for that, even if you ain't."

  Homer flushed. "So what do we do?" he asked resentfully. "Won't he want to see 'em before he buys?"

  "We'll bring one of 'em with us. One diamond. Enough for him to take a look at it and see that it's a top-quality gem." Judd shoved the last bit of pie in his mouth and continued talking around it. "That smarmy little gambler, Ellers, sure had good taste in jewels—and in women. Too bad he lost 'em both."

  Homer chuckled. "Reckon his bad luck is our good luck," he said slyly. "All right, then, so we take one diamond along and leave the rest hidden here safe and sound." He nodded, helped himself to a gulp of coffee. "It's a damn fine plan, Judd. Smart. Almost as smart as my idea to follow the woman that night."

  "Shut up about that night!" Judd's hard lashless eyes flashed a warning. "If anyone ever finds out what happened—especially that gambler—we're dead. You could just say goodbye to that little fortune we've got coming. You could say goodbye to living. So keep your mouth shut about that night, about the diamonds and everything."

  "Sure, Judd, I'll shut up. I don't want no trouble. But is Ellers really as good with a knife as everyone says? They say he can hit a bird in a tree from fifty feet and slice it clean through."

  "That's what they say. And if he ever finds out what happened in that alley in Hatchett, he's gonna slice us in two just like a couple of little birds."

  "How would he ever find out?" Homer scoffed. A grin started and spread from ear to ear. "No one saw what we did. He can't have any notion we've got the diamonds. Hell, there were more'n a hundred folks in Hatchett that night of the tournament. Why in hell would he ever think of us?"

  Judd leaned back in his chair. "You're most likely right. Ellers could be halfway across the country by now, with a new bit of calico on his arm, cheating at cards and winning the pay of every cowboy who sits down at the table with him. If we don't let nothin' slip to no one, we'll probably never see him again."

  "But we're going to see some high times once we sell those diamonds," Homer exulted, setting his coffee cup back in its saucer with a rattle.

  "They're worth a fortune," Judd growled. "More than the prize in that poker tournament. More than you or me can spend in a whole year. So listen up. We'll leave at sunup tomorrow for Great Falls. I'm going upstairs and get us one of them sparklers to bring along."

  "Judd—you sure it's safe to leave the rest of 'em here?"

  "Safe enough. No one knows we got 'em, no one'll find 'em where they're hid. Not even Maura." Judd pushed back his chair, punching his brother in his shoulder as he went past.

  He spoke roughly to Maura, who was closing the hotel guest book as he started up the stairs. "Hey, runt, me and Homer are headed to Great Falls tomorrow on a little business trip. No slackin' off while we're gone. You hear? I want all the windows washed by the time we get back. And you shine my boots tonight before I go to bed. Don't you forget now."

  She stared after him as he took the steps three at a time, his burly form nearly knocking over the slim young traveling salesman from Wichita in the brown derby who was just starting down the stairs.

  Judd and Homer were going to Great Falls—tomorrow.

  This was her chance.

  She swallowed hard and stared around at the dingy lobby of the small hotel, at the dimly lit dining room with its peeling paint and frayed curtains, at the wedge of dull gray town beyond the windows.

  This would be the last night she'd spend here, the last time she'd see Judd and Homer—if all went well.

  This time tomorrow—if she didn't lose her nerve— she'd be on her way.

  Chapter 6

  The stagecoach rumbled into Whisper Valley in a cloud of glittering dust that for a moment obliterated all the stores and buildings lining the street. The passengers jostled together, clutching at the overhead straps and at each other as they pitched forward, then back. Their stomachs, already roiling from the greasy meal they'd eaten earlier, churned hideously as the coach at last rolled to a stop.

  Maura Jane Reed gasped and fought to keep down the biscuits and gravy that had been her lunch. She would not throw up here on this stagecoach—or on the street. She would not.

  Waiting until all the other passengers had descended from the coach, Maura at last stepped down into the road and wearily shook the dust from her skirt. For a moment she merely stood and stared along the boardwalk at the town of Whisper Valley.

  The sight, thank God, was reassuring and cheerful.

  The town appeared bustling and prosperous, the main street lined with storefronts and buildings that looked freshly painted and maintained. Women in calico or gingham hurri
ed along, smiling and nodding to one another, their children in tow behind them. Ranchers and cowboys and miners strode along the boardwalk, horses were tethered at hitching posts all along the street, and two dogs chased a striped cat up onto the roof of the general store.

  Whisper Valley wasn't as big as Helena had been, but it appeared to be much larger than Knotsville. The question was: Did it hold the one man she'd come to find?

  In Helena she'd learned that Quinn Lassiter had finished his work there only three days earlier and had moved on. The clerk she questioned at the hotel had heard him speaking with the rancher who'd hired him to fight in the range war. He'd said something about heading out to Whisper Valley.

  But what if he'd already been here and gone? Maura wondered uneasily.

  She took a deep, steadying breath as the stagecoach driver set her satchel down in the street. She forced herself to stop thinking that Quinn Lassiter might have already moved on. She was tired, dusty, and disheveled from her travels, and the now familiar queasiness was still plaguing her, but she had to forget all that—and all of her doubts as well—and just try to find him.

  The hotel seemed like the logical place to start.

  "Quinn Lassiter?" The woman behind the counter of the Whisper Valley Grand Hotel peered at her in amazement from beneath a gray frizz of hair. "Now why would a sweet little thing like you be looking for a man like him?"

  Startled by the question, and by the open astonishment and curiosity in the woman's brown eyes, Maura fought the urge to stammer out some kind of made-up explanation. Then she realized it was nobody's business but her own.

  "It's a personal matter," she replied.

  The woman shook her head and leaned across the counter. "Don't you know about him?" she asked confidentially. "Haven't you heard the stories? Honey, my name is Mabel Barnes and I know everything that goes on in this town, and I can tell you, we don't often get men of his ilk passing through here. No, thank the good Lord, we don't."

  "Mrs. Barnes, if you could just tell me if he is still—"

  "Why, I quake nearly every time I see the man, and that's the truth. People scatter when they see him coming. And you're going looking for him! Now if that doesn't beat all!"

  "Are you saying Mr. Lassiter is in Whisper Valley?" Hope fluttered in Maura's heart. "Is he here in the hotel?"

  "He's staying here, but he isn't here right now. He's over in the saloon. The Jezebel Saloon, right there across the street."

  Right there across the street. Maura turned and gazed out the window, watching a young cowboy shove his way through the swinging wood doors of the Jezebel Saloon and disappear inside.

  Should she go there right now, before she lost her nerve?

  Her palms grew clammy at the thought. Then she glanced down at her wrinkled gingham gown, her dusty shoes. She looked like a rag someone had used to wash the floor. Who'd want to marry a woman in a dirty gown, with dust clinging to her hair and cheeks, and no doubt pale enough to be mistaken for a ghost?

  "I'd like a room," she told Mabel Barnes. "And a bath."

  "Well, how about Room 204?" The woman tilted her head sideways, like a bird. "That's right down the hall from Mr. Lassiter—he's in 206."

  Her heart jumped, but she managed to speak calmly. "That will be just fine."

  An hour later, as a lilac sunset gilded the sky beyond the window and shadows gathered over the mountains, Maura studied her reflection in the narrow mirror over the hotel bureau.

  She was clean at least, but that was about all she could find to say for herself. Clean and neat.

  Her gingham gown was nearly threadbare, the once vibrant blue and green colors faded from innumerable washings. Her cheeks were still pale, perhaps from weariness after having sat up on the stagecoach for so many long, jolting hours. She pinched her cheeks and ran her hand over her upswept auburn hair. After her bath she'd finger-combed it until it was dry, then tamed the wild springy curls into a topknot that she hoped looked neat and presentable. She'd had to use all of the hairpins she kept in Ma Duncan's little enameled jewel box just to make it appear smooth.

  At least she looked more ladylike than she had that savage January night, with her hair loose and flowing, and her layers of thick, mismatched clothes.

  But what she'd done that night with Quinn Lassiter, a stranger who'd ridden in and out of her life, was anything but ladylike. So why was she trying to convince him she was a lady?

  You're just stalling, she told herself crossly, pushing away the nervousness that fluttered in her chest. Go now before you completely lose your nerve.

  She picked up her shawl, draped it around her shoulders, and trudged downstairs, trying to ignore the pounding of her heart, trying not to think about the enormity of what she was about to do. She couldn't bear to think about Quinn Lassiter's possible reaction. She couldn't bear to think about anything but finishing what she had set out to do.

  The Montana wind whipped at her face and hair as she crossed the street to the saloon, and a few stray strands flew out of the topknot she'd so carefully constructed. But it was too late to fix it now. Her knees were trembling, and she took a deep breath before she set her hand upon the wooden doors of the Jezebel Saloon.

  It took all of her resolve to push them open.

  For a moment, Maura couldn't make out any one person in the vast, smoke-filled room. She noticed first the stout bartender wiping glasses behind the gleaming brass-trimmed bar, then a saloon girl carrying a tray of whiskey bottles and glasses to the table near the piano, then a snoring cowboy asleep with his hat over his face in the corner, and finally, beneath a painting of a woman wearing nothing but a tangle of long gold hair, she saw the table of men playing poker with deadly seriousness.

  Quinn Lassiter was among them. His chair faced her as she froze by the door. Dressed all in black, he was studying the cards in his hand, his expression cold and unreadable as stone. He was, if possible, even more handsome today than he had been that lonely bitter night. Rugged, clean-shaven, dark as a wolf and just as tough and dangerous.

  As Maura hesitated, noting in one swift instant the relaxed set of his broad shoulders beneath his dark shirt and vest, the jet-black hair that brushed his collar, the cool way his eyes flicked from his hand to the cards on the table, he startled her by suddenly glancing up.

  He stared straight at her.

  For a moment her heart lurched into her throat and she couldn't breathe at all. She waited for some change in his expression, for some gleam of recognition in his eyes, for she had recognized him at once, would recognize him even in a room far more crowded than this one, and surely, surely he would recognize her....

  But he didn't. His glance touched her briefly with all the warmth of an eagle looking through and past a cloud. He returned his gaze to his cards and threw a four of spades from his hand.

  It was at this moment that she became aware that everyone else in the place was staring at her—and with far more interest than Quinn Lassiter had shown. Ladies didn't much entertain themselves in a saloon, so it was only natural she would draw attention.

  As she bit her lip, uncomfortable under the scrutiny, wondering if she shouldn't wait until Quinn Lassiter finished his poker game before attempting to approach him, she heard a deep voice behind her.

  "Hey, lady, what say I buy you a drink?"

  The sleeping cowboy had awakened. He was smiling at her blearily.

  "No. Thank you."

  "You sure? Come on over." He hiccuped. "I'm awful thirsty and I hate to drink all by my lonesome."

  Flustered, she turned and started toward the door, deciding she would wait for the gunfighter at the hotel, but in her haste to leave the saloon she tripped over a chair leg and stumbled into a table.

  The commotion drew Lassiter's gaze again. This time he frowned.

  "Something you want, honey?" A saloon girl in a frilly red dress and striped silk stockings poked her in the ribs.

  "Um, no. I just..."

  The girl stared at her thr
ough curious worldly eyes the color of violets. "You just what, honey? You looking for a job?"

  "No, a ... a man."

  Apparently she had spoken more loudly than she intended, for rich laughter greeted this remark from around the Jezebel Saloon.

  "Then you've come to the right place, ma'am." A man dressed in a gambler's frilled shirt and fancily embroidered vest threw her the smoothest smile she'd ever seen from across the poker table. Quinn Lassiter's frown deepened.

  "Not any man," Maura rushed on, feeling her cheeks grow hot, knowing they must be as bright red as the carpet and flocked wallpaper of the saloon. "I came to find Mr. Lassiter."

  The laughter died away. The gunfighter's expression didn't change noticeably, but Maura saw an even more intimidating coldness flicker in his eyes. It was all she could do not to shiver.

  She took a tentative step toward him, trying to shake off the nausea that clutched at her. Lord knows, this was not the way she'd wanted this discussion to begin. He was already angry. And everyone in the saloon was staring from one to the other of them. "I didn't mean to interrupt your game," she said quietly.

  "Lady, you already have."

  "Is it possible... may we... talk privately?"

  "Business?"

  "Yes," Maura lied, her stomach turning over. She knew it would only draw more speculation if she told him it was a personal matter.

  He tossed his cards down and shoved back his chair.

  "Hold my place, Cassidy. I'll be back," he told the balding dealer with a curt nod.

  With long, smooth strides he stalked right past Maura to a table in the far corner of the saloon, then waited for her to catch up. He didn't hold the chair for her, but stood standing while she slipped into a seat, then he settled himself with his back to the wall. His frost-gray eyes pierced her.

  "What kind of job do you have in mind?"

  "I... beg your pardon?"

  "Job. You know, work. You want to hire me, don't you? You must need a gunman real bad to chase me down in a saloon. In the middle of a poker game," he added darkly.