by Cox, Deborah
She played carefully, remembering to keep up the pretense of helpless ignorance, although she didn't think the new player believed it. He'd called her bluff more than once, and she'd had to change her tactics.
It wasn't long before the pile of money before her started to grow and the piles in front of the others, including the newcomer, began to dwindle. She decided to quit while she was ahead, something her father had never been able to do.
"Gentlemen," she said as she raked her winnings toward her, "it has been a pleasure, but I'm afraid I'm getting tired."
Rollins grabbed her wrist, his long fingers wrapping around it like a steel band. What she saw in his eyes made her blood run cold.
"Not so fast, girl. I think you cheated. I know you cheated, and I want my money back."
"Just a minute, mister," the farm boy broke in.
"Shut up and stay out of this, kid," Rollins growled, without taking his eyes off Anne, "unless you're ready to fight. This little lady's gonna give me back my money, and nobody's gonna get hurt, ain't that right?"
She moistened her lips and jerked her arm away, and he released her. There had to be a way out of this. She wasn't about to give this man anything. She'd won every penny of the money in front of her fair and square.
"I... I don't know what you're talking about," she said, stuffing money into her reticule and down the front of her bodice. "Why, I wouldn't know how to cheat."
Rollins snorted. "Don't try that innocent greenhorn act with me. You know the game all right. If you were a man, I'd shoot you on the spot."
There was still a good bit of money on the table—her money—but she set her sights on the door. Her heart pounding in her chest, she stood quickly and lunged for the door. But Rollins was too fast for her. Grabbing her by the arm, he pulled her against him, laughing at her futile struggles.
He held her around the waist with one arm while his other hand plunged down the front of her shirtwaist, pulling out banknotes and letting them fall to the floor.
She struck out, slapping him hard across the jaw. As soon as the sting of his skin against her palm brought her back to her senses, she regretted her rashness.
Rollins howled like a wild animal. He crushed the breath from her, and this time when his hand groped inside her blouse, it closed around a breast. His mouth covered hers before she could twist her head away. She tasted the foulness of his tongue as it sought to invade her mouth through her clenched teeth.
"You got some spunk, girl!" He growled. "Goddammit, I like a woman that puts up a good fight! I'm gonna enjoy taming you!"
With one hand, she pushed against his chest with all her might. With the other, she groped in her pocket, her hand closing over the pistol. She was about to shove it into his side when the change in his expression halted her. He glanced past her over her head. Tension tightened the muscles in the arm that banded her waist.
Before she could react, he produced a knife from somewhere and pressed it against her throat. She couldn't help the tiny gasp of horror that escaped her dry lips at the feel of cold steel against her flesh. Her fingers went numb. She dropped the pistol, well aware that he could slit her throat before she could squeeze off a shot.
"Don't try it, mister," Rollins warned, "unless you want her throat slit ear to ear."
In the corner of her eye, she caught sight of Rafe Montalvo. How had he known where she was? Why wasn't he sleeping after all the laudanum he'd swallowed tonight? It didn't matter. All that mattered was that he was here.
"Just want me a drink," Rafe said, easing his hand away from his revolver. He turned to face the bar as if he hadn't a care in the world. "It's no concern of mine."
This can't be happening, she thought with the only part of her mind that was still functioning. It had to be a dream, a horrible nightmare. Rafe had to help her. He had to keep her alive. She knew where the gold was. Without her, he would never find it.
"C'mon, honey." She could smell the liquor on her tormentor's breath as he whispered against her ear. "Let's you and me go out back. You can show me what you been doing for our friend over there."
She gasped. He'd known all along that she wasn't alone and that she'd been lying.
"If you're good enough, I might even pay you."
She wanted to resist as he began dragging her toward the back door, but a slight pressure reminded her of the blade pressed against her skin. The tent full of patrons watched with only passing interest, among them Rafe Montalvo.
Then he moved—slightly—but the movement caught her eye. It caught Rollins's eye as well and he swung back to Rafe.
"You got any objections?"
Rafe shrugged. "Yeah, I've got objections. You always do your fighting from behind a woman?"
Rollins laughed shortly. "Hell, a man needs a little security."
"I heard that about you, heard you were a coward."
"Do I know you, mister?"
Rafe smiled, but there was no humor in the gesture. "You know me, all right. We have a mutual friend, El Alacran."
Rollins laughed again. It was a sound more like a snort. "Ain't seen him in four or five years. And I sure as hell don't remember you."
"We met five years ago in the Chihuahuan desert, remember? You and a bunch of El Alacran's men kidnapped a woman...."
The knife shook against Anne's throat as a tremor ran through the man who held her. "I didn't have nothin' to do with that."
His grip relaxed for a fraction of a second, long enough for Anne to mount an escape. She struck backward with her elbow, landing a blow to the man's rib cage that caused him to drop the knife. She pulled away and tried to run but tripped over a chair, landing on the sawdust-covered floor at his feet. Dust and wood slivers stuck to her palms.
Frantically, she dug in her pocket and withdrew her pistol as the men around her started scattering. She made herself as small as possible to avoid being stepped on or kicked. Her breath came in gasps, her head throbbed. There were voices overhead, but she couldn't make out what they were saying.
Should she stay where she was or get up? If she stayed on the floor, she could be trampled. But if she rose… she didn't know what might happen.
It was only seconds, but it seemed like an eternity. Anne decided to get up off the floor, but she noticed the banknotes scattered around, and she started crawling, scooping up the money with her free hand and stuffing it in her bodice.
She winced, nearly screamed when gunfire exploded overhead—first one shot, then another slightly after. The man who had grabbed her fell to the ground with a thud, landing close beside her, his eyes staring lifelessly.
Boots walked toward the body. Rafe bent down and pulled out a piece of paper from his own vest pocket: a wanted poster. He held up the likeness to the face of the dead man, then holstered his revolver.
Before she could think or react at all, he was on her, grabbing her by the arm and dragging her to her feet.
"Let me go!" she cried, trying to twist out of his grip.
"Stop fighting or I'll throw you over my shoulder and carry you out of here," he snarled close to her ear.
A shiver of gooseflesh ran up her arm, and she stopped fighting. It would do no good anyway. She didn't know if he meant what he'd said, but as much as she didn't want to go with him, she couldn't stay here.
"What the hell's going on here?" a voice asked.
A man wearing a sheriff's badge walk into the tent, gazing around at the devastation.
"It was a fair fight," someone said. "He saved this lady from that outlaw."
"Is that right, miss?"
She jerked around to face the sheriff when she realized he was talking to her. "Yes."
Rafe walked to the sheriff, dragging her behind him, and handed him the wanted poster. The lawman took it and compared it to the face of the dead man. "It's Sam Rollins, all right."
A man came running in, tying a white apron behind his back. His neck was long, and he resembled a bird, with his long nose and skinny legs. He went immedi
ately to the dead man and took measurements with a tape he produced from his pocket.
Bile rose in Anne's throat at the callousness of the entire affair.
"Okay, mister, you can come by in the morning and collect your reward. Bill, can you get this mess cleaned up?"
The bartender nodded vigorously. "Go back to bed, sheriff, I'll handle this."
The sheriff snorted, and eyed the undertaker. "Looks like everything's under control. He'll be in the ground by morning. Of course, I'll hold out the cost of the burial."
"Is that necessary?" Rafe asked.
"Well, hell, he's gotta be buried, and you killed him. I always hold out the cost of the burial."
Through a fog of nausea and dizziness, Anne glanced down at the man who leaned over the body, measuring it for a coffin. A cold knot settled in the pit of her stomach. She was finding it difficult to focus.
"Come along peacefully," he said, his voice as soft and smooth as velvet yet as lethal as a snake, "or I won't be responsible for my actions. What did you put in my food anyway?"
She couldn't answer, couldn't speak. It took all her concentrated effort to keep up with him as he dragged her into the street.
The first rays of dawn tinged the sky with pink. The early morning air was cool and refreshing. She took several breaths, and the dizziness that had possessed her lessened somewhat.
When they reached the bottom of the staircase that led up to the doctor's office, her fragile control broke. She reached out with her free hand and grabbed the banister, taking Rafe by surprise and halting him on the bottom step. His grip only tightened on her elbow.
"Let me go." She'd intended it as a demand, but her words came out sounding more like a plea.
She tried to pull away, but he didn't seem to notice as he forced her up the step so that she stood toe-to-toe with him.
Once again she tried to escape, but he grabbed her free wrist, pulling her roughly against him so their bodies were almost touching. She could feel his strength and didn’t fight him. It was futile. His angry eyes held hers captive. There was nowhere to run, no possibility of escape.
"Understand me," he said, his face a mask of stone except for the tightening of a jaw muscle. "You are going up the stairs. We can do it the hard way or the easy way. It's up to you, but if I have to carry you, I promise you, you'll regret it."
He let go of one arm, turned, and began walking up the stairs. She had no choice but to follow, though she dreaded what would happen once they reached the top. She didn't know him, not really. She didn't know what he was capable of, except that killing seemed to come naturally to him and he probably didn't possess a conscience at all.
When they reached the door at the top he opened it and dragged her through into the waiting room. Without hesitation, he hauled her into the room where they'd been sleeping, pulling her to the bed and turning her so that she faced him, her back to the bed.
"Sit," he commanded.
She did as he told her, sitting on the edge of the bed, watching as he went to the corner where he'd dropped his gear. He returned with a long coil of rope.
"What are you going to do?" Her voice cracked, despite her efforts to master her fear. A warning glance from those pale eyes held her pinioned.
"Hold out your arms," he told her when he was standing close before her.
She had to tilt her head back to look up into his rage-contorted face. "I will not."
Before she could think or react, he dropped the rope and grabbed both of her hands in his. She struggled with every ounce of strength she had left after her illness and the night's events, but he easily drew her wrists together, holding them with one large hand. Then he bent, retrieving the rope from the floor, and began wrapping it around her wrists.
The will to fight drained from her body. What was the use anyway? She sat helplessly as he secured her wrists and then pulled the free end of the rope through the wrought-iron bars of the headboard. He walked across the room to the spot where he dropped down on his pallet earlier.
"I need some sleep, and this is the only way I can be sure you'll stay out of trouble."
She waited until the room was silent except for the incessant ticking of the clock. Then she lay down on her side, curled as best she could into a ball of misery.
"How did you know where I was?" she asked softly.
Silence met her question. Just when she began to think he was already asleep, an answer came from the darkness.
"I didn't. I just followed the noise."
"I don't understand. I put the whole vial of laudanum in your beer."
"That was one dose for you. Lucky for you, I weigh a hell of a lot more than you do."
Silence engulfed them again. A question nagged at her mind, and though she wasn't sure she wanted to know the answer, she knew she had to ask.
"If that man hadn't had a bounty on his head, would you have killed him to save me?"
"Sure." The answer came without hesitation. "You still haven't told me where the gold is."
She turned her head into her pillow and gave in to the tears that had been close to the surface ever since Rafe had appeared in the saloon, silent tears that streamed down her face and into her pillow. Tears of relief, tears of despair, tears of sadness for the look in his eyes when he'd accused the man.
"You and a bunch of El Alacran's men kidnapped a woman...."
After a while, she stopped wondering about those words, stopped feeling anything but exhaustion, and she fell into a dreamless sleep.
Chapter 10
Anne hated the way her pulse quickened as Rafe came into view through the grimy window. He walked toward her with long fluid strides, carrying a saddle slung over one shoulder and leading a horse she’d never seen before.
He'd untied her without waking her this morning and left while she slept. Was he still angry? She was angry, humiliated, confused. How could she be drawn to such a man? It was a bitter, frightening thing to admit, even to herself, but she couldn’t deny her body’s reaction to the mere sight of him. It didn't make sense, but she felt safe when she was around him, safe and vulnerable at the same time.
She remembered when he'd given her the new boots. He'd noticed how big and worn out hers had been and been thoughtful enough to buy new ones for her. It was a kindness she hadn't expected. He'd taken care of her after the wagon wreck. He'd done so gently, and she had allowed it, had leaned on him because she had no choice.
Did she want to get away from him because she was afraid of him or afraid of her growing attraction to him? She couldn't think clearly.
The farther they travelled from the world she knew, the more dependent she became on him. There seemed to be no solution to her dilemma.
She should be furious with him after what he'd done to her last night, but she could feel herself being drawn to him against her will. He would eventually betray her. He was a man, after all, and that was what men did.
Remembering the money spread on the bed, she rushed over and quickly stacked it, then stuffed it in her running bag which she attached to the hooks on the inside of her skirt before stepping into it.
An involuntary shudder swept over her at the memory of her near miss and Rafe's words. Something about the Chihuahuan desert and a woman... kidnapped.
Chihuahua – that was where they were going. Her mouth went dry and she fought the tremor that seized her and settled in her stomach.
She watched him move closer and wondered about the secrets he kept buried beneath that tough exterior. Something haunted him. If she hadn't seen it before, she'd seen it last night.
Chihuahuan desert… kidnapped… a woman....
There were so many questions, and she wasn't at all sure she wanted to know the answers. She cleared her mind as she opened the door and went down the stairs as Rafe drew near. He stopped before her and dropped the saddle over the hitching post.
Was he still angry? Would he tell her or just refuse to speak to her, as her father used to do? Punish with silence, that h
ad been Paul Cameron's way of dealing with anger, and she half expected the same treatment from Rafe.
"What is that?" She nodded toward the extra horse, choosing to ignore what had happened last night for as long as he would allow her to.
"What does it look like? It's a horse."
At least he'd spoken to her, even if his sharp words cut her to the bone. They stirred the anger and regret she had warred with all morning.
Inching closer, she glared at Rafe. "I know it's a horse, but why is it here?"
"It's for you," he replied, as he tied the end of the rope that was fastened to his horse's halter to the hitching post.
She tried to avoid his eyes, tried to pretend he wasn't still angry by concentrating instead on the horse.
It was quite pretty, with a gleaming dappled-gray coat and large soulful eyes. It seemed placid enough at the moment, but she kept her distance just the same. The animal's sheer size and, to her mind, unpredictable nature terrified her. It reminded her of the man who stood before her now, impatiently awaiting her response.
"You know I can't ride." She was careful not to look at him, afraid of what she would see in his eyes.
"Well, you're going to have to learn. My horse can't carry us both all the way to Mexico. Unless you want to stay here while I go for the gold. I'll split it fifty-fifty."
Anne ignored that absurd offer. "Couldn't we get a wagon?"
"No. You're going to slow me down enough. I'm not going to let a wagon slow me down even more."
She reached out to touch the horse's muzzle. "I have a whole month to get the gold and get back to Ubiquitous with it, so I'm not in any hurry."
"Well, I am. You don't think—"
Whatever he might have been about to say was cut off by her cry of alarm when the horse snorted softly and moved its head toward her.
"It tried to bite me!"
"No, he didn't," Rafe assured her, in a voice almost devoid of patience. "He wants you to rub him like this."
He reached out, stroking the horse's muzzle from between the eyes all the way down to the tip of his nose, then withdrew his hand. He was waiting for her to touch the horse as he had.