A Promise of Roses (10 page)

A moment passed before he stepped back, grinning. “You're a real spitfire. Has anyone ever told you that?"

She didn't answer.

He opened the bag and pulled out his shirt, shaking it a few times before stuffing it into the dresser. Then he went to the bed, sat down, and kicked off his boots. He was about to lean back against the pillows when a knock sounded at the door.

"That's probably your bath,” he said, rising.

He opened the door and let two young boys carry in a brass tub, followed by several buckets of steaming water.

"Mind if I watch?” Lucas asked when they were once again alone.

"I most certainly do,” Megan answered haughtily.

He chuckled. “Well, I don't feel like locking you up, so I guess I'll have to stay. Pity there's no dressing screen."

A blush spread over her face, down past her
collar."You
can't mean to watch me bathe. That ... that..."

"Sounds like a damn good idea to me.” She was flustered. He liked that.

She set her shoulders, making her breasts press even more fully against the cotton of her shirt. “I think you should go."

"And miss the show? Uh-uh."

"Lucas..."

"I
ain't
leavin
'. But I won't look, either.” He went back to the bed and
laid
down, crossing his feet at the ankles.

"How can I be sure you won't peek?"

He lifted the hat off his head and placed it over his face. “Better?” he asked, his voice muffled by the hollow Stetson.

"All right.
But if I catch you looking..."

"You won't,” he said. He wouldn't get caught. Hell, he didn't even plan on watching her from under the brim of his hat. But a man couldn't help it if his imagination ran a little wild. If an ethereal image of Megan stark naked should happen to creep into his head, what could he do about it?

A soft, lilting sound reached his ears, and he tipped his head to hear
better
. At first it came in short, quiet spurts,
then
grew louder by degrees, filling the room. It took him a minute to figure out that Megan was humming. He didn't recognize the song but soon picked up on the melody enough to follow along in his head.

He pictured her relaxing in her bath, soaping one long, slim leg and then the other.
Rinsing with a squeeze of the washcloth over her sudsy skin.
He didn't know if the light tinkle of dripping water was real or imagined, but the sound had a disastrous effect on his body.

He took a deep breath to steady his dwindling control, only to be accosted by the heady scent of roses. He couldn't take any more. With a growled curse, he leapt up from the bed and stalked toward her, his forgotten Stetson falling to the floor.

Megan gasped when she saw him coming. She clutched the small square washcloth to her breasts in a useless attempt to cover herself.

"What—” she began.

"Fire!
Fire!”
The shouts came from outside their door. A rush of frightened footsteps filled the hallway.

"Damn!” Lucas grabbed Megan's arm and pulled her to her feet. He yanked the bedspread loose, wrapping it around her wet body. Lifting her into his arms, he ran out of the room.

Guests of the hotel clustered together in the street, all staring at the building, as if they expected it to collapse at any moment. But not a hint of smoke billowed out the windows; no red-orange flames licked at the walls.

"What the hell is going on?” Lucas muttered.

Megan felt like a rag doll, cradled in his strong arms. She held the blanket closed at her neck. The looks she got from the people milling about made her want to curl into a ball and disappear.

"You can put me down now,” she said quietly.

He glanced at her as though he only now remembered he was holding her. His eyes just as quickly returned to watching the hotel. “You don't have anything on your feet."

She raised a leg, seeing her bare foot sticking out from the hem of the quilt. “Put me down."

"Hush.” He tightened his arms about her.

"It's all right, folks.” The call rose over the voices of the crowd. A pudgy, gray-haired man stood at the front of the building. “A small fire in the kitchen is all. No harm done. You can return to your rooms now."

People began trickling in, eyeing the hotel warily. “It's all right,” the man said again, ushering patrons into the lobby. “Sorry for the inconvenience, ladies and gentleman."

The man's face turned a dark shade of red when Lucas stepped up on the boardwalk. He kept his gaze averted from Megan's blanket-clad form.

"Dinner still at five?”
Lucas asked with an air of nonchalance.

"Yes, sir.
On the dot.
The kitchen sustained little damage. It will be cleaned up in no time. Chicken and dumplings tonight,” he added.

"So I heard.” Lucas shifted sideways to keep from cracking Megan's head on the doorframe. They made their way back upstairs, following a line of other guests doing the same. When they reached their room, the door stood open from their hurried departure. Sunlight streamed in through the far window, brightening the flowered wallpaper and cascading over the pristine white sheets of the bed.

Megan lifted her head to gaze at the man holding her. His face seemed more weathered than she'd first noticed. Tiny lines wrinkled his otherwise smooth forehead and marred the flesh about his gentle eyes. She froze, her heart skipping a beat when her perusal led to those cerulean orbs and she found them staring back at her.

She turned away, slightly unnerved. “Could you ... put me down now, please?” The words sounded forced, even to
her own
ears. She couldn't help it. Her throat felt thick and scratchy, as if she'd just tried to eat a bale of cotton. And she wasn't so sure she wanted him to put her down. She liked the way his arms held her close, strong and steady beneath her. The heat of his body soaked through the bedspread, warming her.

Her legs slid downward as his grip loosened. It seemed forever before the fuzzy carpeting met the tips of her bare toes. One of his arms remained around her back, keeping her flush against his chest, her breasts pressed between them.

She swallowed. He was too close; she couldn't concentrate. Her mind seemed hazy, her thoughts jumbled. All she knew was that she didn't want to move yet. She wanted to stay this way for all time.
Locked in his arms.

"Megan."

He whispered her name a moment before his lips brushed hers. His tongue trailed the line of her bottom lip, and she opened for him most willingly, wanting to get closer, to be one with him. The heat of his mouth, the grappling of tongues overcame her. She moaned low in her throat. Her fingers tightened around his biceps, the nails digging in. She closed her eyes and let the intimate sensations of his touch wash over her.

Lucas pulled away, breathing hard. She followed his movement, her body swaying forward. He put his hands on her waist, keeping her in place when he took a step backward.

She opened her eyes and stared at him, confused.

"I think you'd better get dressed,” he said, reaching for his hat where it had fallen on the floor beside the bed. He walked to the door, stopping with his hand on the knob. “I'll be back for you before dinner."

Megan watched the mahogany panel close on his departing form, wondering what it was about her that offended his delicate sensibilities. It seemed that every time she offered herself to him, he walked away.

Not that she made a practice of seducing men. She had never made love before. No man had ever even kissed her the way Lucas did—hot and passionate and full of wicked delight. There was just something about Lucas that made her want to be with him.

She knew all about what took place between a man and woman—beyond what she and Lucas had already done. And if the rest felt half as good as his kisses, she definitely wanted to experience it.

But with only one man.
Only with Lucas McCain.

Dressed in the yellow skirt and plain, unadorned blouse Lucas had bought her, Megan sat cross-legged on the bed, waiting for him to return. It amazed her that he'd left her alone for so long. Didn't he realize she could have climbed out the window? Why, by now she could have been partway
back
to Leavenworth.

She ran her fingers through her hair, brushing the tangles out as best she could before attempting to braid the long locks. Styling hair had never been her forte. She tended to leave sprigs sticking out all over the place, if she could even manage to keep the arrangement from being lopsided.

The thought of Leavenworth—or, more specifically, the Adams Express—depressed her. She could just imagine how far the business had plummeted with Hector holding the reins. Perhaps, if God chose to smile down on her, Caleb would take over. Her brother couldn't care for things as well as she did, of course, but he would be able to keep the Express running until she got back.
Whenever that might be.

She gave the yellow ribbon at the end of her finished braid a brutal tug. She had to get back. She didn't care that Lucas intended to turn her in for robbing her own stages. She didn't care that he kept her under lock and key. With a little planning and a lot of luck, she could escape.

Of course, he would know exactly where she was headed, since she didn't really have anywhere else to go. But what did that matter? Lucas's obsession with finding Silas Scott would overrule his need to find her. By the time he got around to coming after her, she would probably be able to prove her innocence.

Unfortunately, that reasoning was weak, to say the least. Lucas didn't even know where Scott was at the moment. And what made her think her armed guard wouldn't spare a few hours to track her down and drag her back?

Megan groaned and collapsed full length on the mattress. It was hopeless. Even if she did manage to get away from Lucas, she had no way of knowing that the Adams Express hadn't already gone out of business.

"Ready?"

She sat up, startled by Lucas's sudden appearance. She hadn't heard the telltale grating of the key before he entered.

Her brows knit. “You didn't lock the door, did you?"

A grin lifted one side of his
mourn
.
“Nope.
Are you disappointed?"

"Of course not.”
She almost told him that she wouldn't still be sitting here if she'd known, but she thought better of it. No sense alerting him to the fact that she planned to escape. “I'm just surprised you trusted me."

He chuckled. “Don't get your hopes up, sweetheart. I was just outside the door. I would have heard you if you'd tried to leave."

"Oh."

He held out an arm. “Are you ready to eat?"

She put her hand in the crook of his elbow and let him lead her through the hotel. They met several other guests in the hall, all on their way to dinner. The dining room turned out to be average-size with dark wood paneling. Red-and-white checked cloths covered the round tables that crowded the room.

Lucas chose a table in the corner, holding a chair out for Megan. She noticed that he purposely seated her facing the wall. He sat opposite her, keeping the entire room in view.

"Do you expect trouble?” She had to call his name before he looked at her.

"What?"

"I asked if you expect trouble."

He shook his head. “Old habit, I guess. I like to be aware of my surroundings."

"Good idea. After all, you never know when the cook might come out and try to bludgeon you with a dead chicken."

"Exactly,” he said, as if that were an everyday occurrence.

An older woman came to their table, a pristine white apron tied at her waist. “What will you have?"

Megan wondered why the woman bothered to ask, since evidently the only thing being served was chicken and dumplings. She looked up to see Lucas's mouth curved into a small smile. He winked.

"Let's see,” he said. “I have a hankering for pot roast."

"
Mmm
.”
Megan went along with his game. “That sounds divine.
With potatoes and carrots and thick, creamy gravy."

"Lots of gravy,” he agreed.

"We got chicken and dumplings,” the woman said, unmoved.

"Well,” Lucas said, “
if
you pile on lots of gravy, I doubt I'll know the difference."

"You want coffee with that?"

He nodded. “What about you?” he asked Megan.

"Please."

The woman moved to the next table, getting that order more quickly than Lucas and Megan's.

"Have you heard anything about Scott yet?"

Lucas shook his head. “I think I'll take a walk over to the saloon later. Somebody may have seen him. If I can't find out anything there, I might have a word with the marshal."

"I thought you didn't want anyone to know you were in town."

"I'd rather they didn't, but it may be the only way I can pick up on Scott's trail. I can probably trust the marshal not to tell anyone about me."

They had eaten dinner and were just finishing a healthy slice of apple pie when the clerk from the front desk came to their table.

"Excuse me, Mr. Campbell” He nodded to Megan respectfully. “I forgot to send a paper up to your room. Here it is now, sir. Please accept my apology.” He placed an issue of the
Wichita Gazette
on the table,
then
hurried out of the dining room.

Lucas stood, putting the paper under his arm. He held out his other for Megan.

"You can be very charming when you want to be,” she said as they ascended the stairs.

He gave a disbelieving snort.

"I mean it,” she insisted. “When you're not strapping me to a saddle or dropping me in me dirt, you're quite a gentleman. You've been nothing but polite all evening."

Lucas moved closer to whisper in her ear. “We're supposed to be married, remember? It wouldn't do for these fine people to think we're not getting along."

"I don't believe that has anything to do with it. I think you're basically a very nice man. Certain situations just bring out your barbaric side."

"Barbaric, huh?”
They reached their room, and he opened the door, gallantly waving Megan in before him. “What barbaric act have I ever committed?"

"Stage robbery, taking part in a kidnapping, then kidnapping me again.”
She ticked off the crimes on one hand, quickly moving on to the other set of fingers. “Tied me to a horse, left me sitting outside a saloon alone and vulnerable.” Another long-suffering snort interrupted her. She frowned but continued with the list.
“Dropped me to the ground from your horse—which was quite a distance, as I recall.
Handcuffed me to a bathtub, tied me to the bed—"

"Okay, okay.” He held up his hands in surrender. “I thought you were going to point out barbaric things I've done to other people. You don't count."

Her eyes widened. “I don't count? And just why not?"

He leaned toward her, tapping the tip of her nose with his finger. “You're my prisoner, remember?” He moved past her to one of the brocade armchairs situated before the window.

She crossed her arms over her chest, pretending to be offended. When Lucas didn't seem to notice, she gave up and went to the mirror to unbraid her hair. Removing the yellow ribbon, she set it on the bureau. Only then, when she caught the reflection of the room in the mirror, did she notice that the tub was missing.

"The staff at this hotel is wonderful,” she commented, turning to face Lucas, who sat reading the newspaper, his boots propped on the footstool. “They removed the tub without being asked, and the bed is made."

Lucas spared the four-poster a glance before returning his attention to the paper.

"Much nicer than the people at the Eat ‘n’ Sleep.
It took them forever to retrieve the bathtub, and they never did make the bed. I swear
,
they looked at me as though I had a set of horns growing out of my head."

"They thought you were crazy,” he said.

She put a hand on one hip in an annoyed gesture. “Well, that's absurd. That first night, when you cuffed me in the bath, and I protested ... vehemently ... well, I can understand them thinking I was a little touched in the
head.
But after that, everything was fine, and they still gave me strange looks."

"No,” he said, refolding the paper and setting it aside. “You misunderstood me."

One side of his mouth quirked up in a grin.
Megan had learned that that particular expression meant trouble. He knew something she didn't, and the half smile was a guarantee that she wasn't going to like it, whatever it was.

"I mean they really thought you were crazy.
Demented."

"Why did they think that?” she asked warily.

"Because I told them so."

Her mouth fell open, and her tongue all but rolled onto the floor.

"I knew you would put up a fuss when I cuffed you, and I didn't want them breaking into the room to set you free, so I made up a story to keep them out."

"You did what?"

He chuckled, remembering. “I told the maid you'd once been kidnapped by a band of vicious outlaws. And with your fragile disposition"—he made a face—"you never recovered."

He started laughing. “You should have seen the poor woman when I told her you sometimes had to be restrained. I thought her eyes were going to pop right out.” He slapped his knee, overcome with laughter.

Megan started counting. She concentrated on her breathing, imagined all the ways she would revel in torturing him. Nothing worked. The blood pounded in her ears a moment before she completely lost her temper.

She picked up the silver-backed brush from the dresser and hurled it at his head. “You are the meanest, most vile creature God ever put on this earth! You disgust me!"

She avoided the matching mirror but had no qualms about throwing the soap cup from his shaving kit. It hit the wall, pieces of thick clay flying in every direction.

"How could you
do
something like that?” she ranted. “You kidnap me, drag me halfway across the state, and then have the gall—the
gall—
to tell people I'm unstable.” Darting across the room, she grabbed his saddlebags, heavy with the payroll money. Leaning back, she swung the leather at him with all her strength. The satchel hit him in the stomach, causing him to double over with a grunt of pain.

A smile of victory spread across her face. “I hope you burn in hell. I hope the Devil himself comes for you. I'll cheer when you go. No,” she said, “I'll organize a parade.
With elephants and tigers and a snake.
Oh, but we can't have a snake, because you'll be
gone.
And you're the biggest snake of them all!"

Lucas straightened, fixing her with an ice-cold glare. He took a step forward.

She retreated, uncertain of what he might do. “You deserved to be punched in the gut,” she said. “That was a mean trick you pulled back in Topeka."

He moved closer.

He was intent on catching her, she thought. Heaven knew what kind of punishment he'd cooked up in that pile of dung he called a brain.

When his arms snapped out, she shrieked and ran as fast as she could. She leapt onto the bed, skittering away on her hands and knees like a jittery colt. He stood at the end of the bed, ready to block any move she might make.

"Don't touch me” she said.

He advanced until the fronts of his legs came in contact with the footboard.

She wiggled back several inches, the soft mattress and her skirts impeding her progress. “I'll scream. I swear to God, I'll scream so loud, the roof will cave in."

"So scream,” he said. “I'll just tell them the same story I told in Topeka. My dear, distraught wife still has nightmares about being kidnapped by that group of ruffians. Is it any wonder I sometimes have to tie her to the bed? It's for
her own
good, of course. The townspeople would understand that."

"You're a real bastard, Lucas McCain."

"It's about time you figured that out."

He lunged forward in a blur of motion. Megan opened her mouth to scream, but his hand quickly muffled the attempt. His body pinned her down, keeping her still.

"I'll let go if you promise not to scream."

She tried to tell him to go to Hell, but her words were indecipherable.

"Tut-tut,” he said with a laugh. “I'm not sure what you said, but I know it wasn't nice. No wife of mine should talk like that."

Megan launched into a string of curses, all of them cut short by his hand over her mouth.

"I'm going to let you go, but you're going to behave yourself,” Lucas said.

She managed to open her mouth enough to get a fair amount of his skin between her teeth. With a smile that he couldn't see, she bit down.

He yelped. When he sat up to stare at his injured palm, Megan rolled off the bed and stood, her breathing labored.

"That ought to teach you not to touch me."