A Promise of Roses (16 page)

"He's wonderful.” Megan clasped her hands over her heart, smiling. “He's handsome and brave, and when he touches me ... Oh, I shouldn't be telling you these things. If Caleb found out, he'd kill me. Or, worse, he'd kill Lucas."

"You don't think
I'm
going to tell him, do you?” Rebecca put down her paring knife and sat at the table.

Megan hopped atop one of the chairs, sitting with her legs folded beneath her. “I think I fell in love with Lucas the first time I saw him. Really saw him, I mean. He wore a bandanna over his nose and mouth when he rode with the others to rob the stage. But then, when he pulled that brown neckerchief down ... Lord, he stole my breath away. Does that sound too silly?
Too girlish?"

"Not at all.
The first time I met Caleb, I was so unnerved, I made a complete fool out of myself by cursing and kicking his desk. I think I broke a toe on the blasted thing."

"He has the bluest eyes. Did you notice?"

"Caleb? I'm pretty sure he has brown eyes"

"No,” Megan groaned. “Lucas. Lucas has the deepest, bluest, most beautiful eyes I've ever seen.” She waved a hand. “Who cares about Caleb?"

"Well, I do,” Rebecca said. “But go on."

"And he has the nicest, um...” She pointed behind her and down.
“Bottom."

"You looked?"

"I rode behind him for miles and miles. It was sort of hard to miss."

"Yes, well, nice backsides do count for something."

"He didn't want to make love to me at first.” She stopped, eyeing her sister-in-law. “I can talk about this, right? You won't say anything to Caleb?"

"Not a word” She crossed her heart. “I promise."

"All right.”
Megan leaned forward, lowering her voice to a whisper. “I wanted him to touch me, even though I knew it was wrong. But I've never felt this way about a man before. As if we were destined to meet. He keeps telling me we don't have a future together, that he has to track down Silas Scott. That's the man who murdered Lucas's wife and son,” she explained.

Rebecca gasped. “What?"

"Oh, it's a very long story. Suffice it to say that Lucas won't stop until he's found and killed this man. And, truly, who can blame him? But I get the oddest feeling, Rebecca. It's as if I don't really believe Lucas will ever be gone. But I know he will. I know he's leaving. And somehow even that's okay. I think, even if I never see him again after today, it will all have been worth it. I wouldn't trade the time we've spent together for anything. I'll be lonely, but I'll have my memories. I'll always be able to look back and remember how sweetly, how tenderly he made love to me."

"I hope you don't think you'll spend the rest of your life alone. Any man would be lucky to have you. If Lucas isn't smart enough to realize that, some other man will be."

Megan shook her head at Rebecca's statement. “I won't ever be with another man. I could never feel this way about anyone else."

"But maybe—"

"No. There will never be anyone who even comes close to Lucas. Would there be another man who could fill Caleb's shoes?"

"You're right. I'm sorry for mentioning it. Of course no one could ever take Caleb's place. And if you love Lucas half as much as I love your brother, I can understand
your
wanting to be a spinster rather than settling for less."

"I never said I was going to be a spinster.
Lord, that
word puts me in mind of a little old lady dressed in gray with tiny spectacles perched on the tip of her nose. No. I may never many, but I'll never be like that, either."

Bessie returned then, her straw basket filled to the top with shiny green peppers.

Rebecca smiled. “Zach can help you wash those, Bessie. Where is he?” She looked around a moment before her hand flew to her mouth.
“Oh, my goodness.
I forgot I sent him to his room. He's probably wondering why it's taking so long for me to call him down."

"I'll get him,” Megan said. She headed for the door. “He can show me his new rocks.” She cupped a hand to the side of her mouth. “And this will give me a chance to check on Caleb and Lucas."

"Would you like another slice of meat?” Rebecca asked over Zachary's constant chatter.

Lucas stabbed a thick slab of beef from the platter she offered. “This is delicious, Mrs. Adams.” He piled an extra serving of potatoes, carrots, and gravy onto his plate, too.

"Thank you. And you really must call me Rebecca."

He nodded, but he wouldn't do any such thing. First names were too personal. He didn't want to like these people. Not when he knew he had to take Megan away from them. He'd already come to grudgingly respect Caleb, and as far as he was concerned, that was more emotion than he could afford.

"Will you be taking Megan with you directly after dinner, or will she be allowed to spend the night?” Rebecca asked.

Lucas chewed a bite of beef, waiting to swallow before answering.

"We'll be leaving after we eat,” Megan said. “Isn't that right, Lucas?"

He nodded.

"We shouldn't have stayed this long,” she said. “But I did so want to see you."

"You seem to be in an awful hurry to go to jail,” Caleb said sharply.

She smiled at her brother.
“Not at all.
But the sooner Lucas turns me in and wires Brandt Donovan, the sooner this whole mess will be cleared up."

"Well, I'll be wiring Mother first thing in the morning. She'll probably faint dead away when she finds out you're under arrest."

"I don't know why she'd be surprised.” Megan popped a bit of carrot in her mouth. “She always said I would be the death of her. She probably has an attorney lined up just waiting for word that I'm in trouble."

"Probably."

Megan's fork stilled. She pinned her brother with a sharp gaze. “Caleb, how is the Express?"

He shifted in his seat, refusing to meet her eyes.
“Fine."

"The truth, Caleb."

"All right.”
He threw his napkin down beside his plate. “The truth is, not so good. Hector is taking only half his runs, swearing up and down that the stage line is cursed. As soon as the passengers find out the Adams Express is the express they've been hearing such terrible things about, they opt to find another mode of transportation, even if it means staying in Leavenworth an extra week. If things go on in this vein much longer, we'll go under. There, are you satisfied?"

Megan frowned.
“Not at all."

Caleb's tone
softened,
and he covered her hand with his own. “Megan, I've done my best. Things weren't all that great before you were kidnapped. You can't expect a miracle."

"I don't expect a miracle.” She sniffed and looked away. “I just expect people to realize that I am not an ogre. I am not at fault for the stage being robbed.” Her fist came down on the tabletop, rattling silverware. “No one—not a single passenger—has ever been harmed on one of my stages. You'd think that would count for something."

"I guess no one wants to take the risk of being the first person shot by the outlaws."

With the conversation heading in such a sensitive direction, Lucas began shoveling his dinner into his mouth twice as fast. He wiped his lips with the linen napkin before rising from the table.
“You about ready?"

"The least you could do is let her have a decent meal before you haul her off to the gallows,” Caleb said.

"I'm finished,” Megan said, standing.

"Are you sure you don't want anything more?” Rebecca asked. “There's apple pie for dessert."

Megan's eyes widened. She nibbled her bottom lip. “I shouldn't. We really have to go. But, oh, your pies are so good.” She turned a pleading gaze on Lucas. “Just one slice, I promise."

"Bring it with you,” he
said,
eager to be gone.

"I'll wrap up the whole thing. You might get hungry later tonight, anyway."

"That wasn't very nice,” Megan told Lucas later when they were mounted and ready to ride into town.

"What wasn't?"

She raised an arm, smiling and waving to her family, who stood on the front porch.
“Leaving before dessert.
Her apple pies are really delicious. You don't know what you're missing."

"Maybe I'll confiscate the pie before I turn you in to the marshal."

"Over my dead body,” she said, clutching the dish closer to her chest.

He had to admit the pie smelled good. God, didn't her family have any faults? Her sister-in-law seemed to be a saint—the perfect mother, a fabulous cook, sweet and charitable. Halfway through dinner, he could have sworn he saw a halo glowing above Rebecca Adams's head.

Even Megan's brother seemed faultless. Sure, he'd been hard-pressed not to knock Lucas into the next county, but his anger was justified. He only wanted to defend his sister's honor. Christ, Lucas was starting to feel like a jackass just for doing his job.

He glanced at Megan, riding beside him at an even pace.

"You've got a nice family.” He hoped the statement would assuage his guilt. It didn't.

She beamed at him. “They are wonderful, aren't they?” She reached out to cover his hand where it rested on the reins. “Thank you so much for taking me to see them. You can't imagine how much I missed them the past few weeks."

Yes, he could. If his family had been like the
Adamses
, he'd have missed them, too. But the only time his father had paid him any attention was when he disciplined—with the back of his hand. And his poor mother had been so afraid of the
bastard,
she never tried to stop him from beating her only son. It was no wonder he'd run away at the age of eleven.

They arrived in town just as the sun was setting on the far horizon. Megan, he noticed, had tightened her grip on both the reins and the apple pie. She sat ramrod straight in the saddle, but she didn't balk. She didn't make a run for it or try to change his mind.

Damn her. Why couldn't she argue with him, cry like a baby, beg him to let her go? If she spurred her horse into a gallop at the last minute, he would at least be able to build up enough anger to drag her back and into the marshal's office.

But she kept her promise, making no attempt to get out of going to jail.

"Damn!"

She jumped, startled. “What?"

"I just remembered something I have to do."

"Now?"

"Right now.”
He threw his leg over Worthy's rump. “Stay here.” He saw her swallow. “Don't move."

"Shouldn't I go in? Explain things to Marshal Thompson?"

"No. I'll take care of it when I get back. You stay where you are. Don't move a muscle.” Confident she would
obey,
he turned and strode down the boardwalk. His long strides ate up the distance between their horses and the telegraph office. He looked behind him before entering the building, checking to see that Megan was still where he'd left her. She'd pulled her hat down to shade her face from curious onlookers, but other than that, she hadn't budged.

In curt syllables, he told the clerk he wished to send a telegram. He filled out the necessary form,
then
slid it across the countertop, along with the proper coin payment. He waited for the man to tap the message over the wire. Satisfied, he left the office and headed back for Megan.

Only she wasn't there.

He
blinked,
sure his eyes were playing tricks on him. She wouldn't defy him. She wouldn't dare run. Oh, but she would, a voice in his head reminded him. He quickened his steps.

"Lucas."

The husky whisper reached him before he could mount
Worthy
. He looked toward the alley between the jail and the bank, trying to pinpoint the source of the sound. He stepped back onto the boardwalk. His eyes narrowed, and his hand moved to the butt of his revolver.

"Lucas,” he heard again. “Over here."

This time he recognized the voice as Megan's. The only question was, what the hell was she doing crouched in the alley? He asked her just that.

"
Shh
!” she said, motioning him into the shadows. “Get down."

He balanced on the balls of his feet, not sure why he bothered. “What the hell is going on? I told you not to move."

"See those men over there?"

He followed the tip of her finger with his eyes. Three old men in overalls sat on a bench in front of the general store. They all scratched at their beards around corncob pipes.
“Yeah.
So?” he asked, agitated.

"They sit there for hours, keeping each other—and anybody else who'll listen—informed about town goings-on."

He waited for her to continue. When she didn't, he snapped, “Who cares?"

"I do,” she whispered harshly. “Everyone in town knows I was kidnapped by the stage robbers. If those men see me, they'll come over to make sure I'm all right. If they find out I'm being arrested, it will be all over Leavenworth by sundown."

Lucas looked at the horizon. “That's in about ten minutes."

"My point exactly."

"What are we going to do, sit here until they leave?"

"Yes. I don't know why they're here so late. They usually gather there in the afternoon,
then
go home for supper."

"Megan,” he said, his teeth grating together. “I'm not going to crouch here all night. My feet are already falling asleep."

"We can't let them see me.” She clutched his arm. “Please. I don't mind going to jail—honest I don't. But please don't make me a spectacle in front of the whole town."

He ran a hand through his hair. “Christ. What did I do to deserve this? Why couldn't I be saddled with some prim and proper miss who wouldn't lower herself to hiding out in an alley?"

"Because a prim and proper miss wouldn't be suspected of feeding payroll information to outlaws in the first place,” she said, answering his rhetorical question. “She wouldn't run her own stagecoach company or drive her own stage or let you handcuff her to a bed. And she would rater die than let you touch her the way you—"

"Never mind.”
He looked toward the other end of the alley. “What's that way?"

She looked behind them in the direction he indicated.
“Nothing.
Just the backs of these buildings."

"Is there anything to keep a person from riding around?"

"No.” Her brow wrinkled. “What are you thinking?"

He moved forward on his haunches, keeping clear of the old men's line of vision. “Stay here,” he said. “And I mean it this time."

At the corner of the bank he straightened, walking to Worthy as though there weren't a woman huddled in the alley, waiting for him to get her away from prying eyes. He mounted, grabbed the mare's reins, and started toward the end of town at a lazy gait. As soon as he was out of the geezers’ sight, he made a half circle, coming around behind the jail to the alley. Megan still crouched against the wall of the jail, watching the old men on the bench. The pie teetered precariously on her knees.

"Mount up."

She swung around, a hand pressed to her heart. “You scared me, Lucas."

"Mount up,” he repeated.

She did as he told her, and they started away from town. “Where are we going? If we just wait, I'm sure the men will leave. Then you can turn me in to Marshal Thompson like you planned."

"Plans change."

"What?"

"Where's your house?"

"What?"

He sighed at the thickness of her skull.
“Your house.
You did say you owned one.
That you live there.
Alone."

She nodded.

"So where is it?"

"About three miles outside of town."

He made a flourishing gesture with his arm. “Lead the way."

*
    
*
    
*

The house was just what he expected from her lengthy description. Two stories, painted white. Black shutters closing off the windows.
A white picket fence surrounding a nice-size yard.
A small barn stood off to the side, empty now. According to Megan, her brother had moved her livestock and the one hired hand over to his place when she disappeared. They'd also locked the place to keep out unwanted guests.

"I'll take care of the horses. You go inside.” He walked the animals into the dark barn, fed them, and bedded them down for the night. Then he started up the front porch steps, taking them two at a time.

The inside of the house was darker than the barn. He heard rather than saw a match flare to life and followed the sound to find Megan lighting an oil lamp on a table beside a red brocade settee.

"Nice,” he said.

The crystals hanging from the lamp glittered in the yellow-orange haze. She moved across the room to start the wick of another, much plainer lamp.

"This is the parlor. My mother likes this room best. Personally, it's a little too ... stuffy for my taste. But I left everything the way it was before Papa died. I'm not here much, so it doesn't really matter how the furniture is arranged.

"I should probably go around and open all the shutters,” she added.

"Leave them closed. The fewer people who realize we're here, the better."

She shrugged a shoulder, uncaring.

"Show me around the rest of the house.” He didn't want to see the other rooms as much as he wanted to get a feel for the place. He wasn't comfortable in a new location until he knew every possible exit, every corner a person could hide in, any area that might harbor a possible danger.

She left the parlor, carrying a lamp with her rather than lighting new ones every time she entered a room. Crossing the foyer, they entered the dining room.
Through another doorway stood a large kitchen.

He immediately noticed the door at the far end of the room. “Where does that lead?"

"Outside."

He turned the key, opening it to look around for a moment. Then he pulled it closed and made sure it was locked tight.

She retraced their steps, leading him up the stairwell to the second floor. “That's Papa's bedroom.” She pointed to the door at the end of the hall. At the next one, she said, “Caleb and Rebecca stayed here before they built their own house. That's the guest room.” She waited for him to open and inspect all three.

"This is the best of all, though,” she said with a grin.
“The water closet.
Papa got it into his head that we needed one.” She opened the door, holding the lamp for him to see. Inside sat a large porcelain, claw-footed tub, a pedestal sink with an oval mirror hanging on the wall above, and a commode. “There's no water for the sink or tub yet. Papa died before it was completed, and I haven't had the time yet to add all the finishing touches."

"Wallpaper and dried flowers are finishing touches,” Lucas commented. “Running water is more a necessity."

"Not for me,” she said. “I'll have pipes put in when I get around to it. Until then, I'll make do."

She left the door open as she moved down the hall to the first door on the right. “This is my room."

A four-poster oak bed with a pink floral canopy and matching bedspread filled the center of the room. Along one wall was a dresser, complete with sparkling gold fixtures. In the corner behind the door stood a cheval glass and a changing screen made of the same fabric as the curtains and bedclothes.

"Nice.”
Except he could hardly picture this as Megan's domain.
Something less frilly and more practical would better suit her tastes, he thought

"Thank you.” She lit the wick of the lamp beside her bed, and light blazed through the room. “It's been this way since I was sixteen. I guess I never got around to redecorating."

"No, it's nice."

She pulled off her hat, tossing it atop the dresser. “Yes—for a sixteen-year-old, terribly romantic dreamer. These days, when I get home from the Express, I just want a place to sleep. Give me a blanket and a hardwood floor, and you'll hear me snore."

He chuckled, knowing that to be true enough. But the humor caught in his throat when Megan unbuttoned her shirt, letting it fall to the floor.

"I know you have a thing about being the only one to know what's going on,” she said. “But do you think you could enlighten me?"

His eyes slid to her creamy shoulders, the lift of her breasts beneath the soft material of her camisole.

"Lucas?"

He snapped his head up, returning his attention to her face. “Huh?"

"Enlighten me.” Her boots now lay haphazardly on the floor. She husked her trousers down her legs. “Tell me why you all of a sudden decided to bring me here instead of turning me over to the marshal."

"What are you doing?"

"Taking off my filthy clothes.
How about you?"

"I'm still dressed."

Like the tinkle of a bell, her laughter filled the room. “I can see that. But why—"

"I changed my mind."

Her hand stilled as she was reaching into the wardrobe. Slowly, she turned to look at him. “What do you mean?"

"You're doing this on purpose, aren't you? Getting undressed in front of me,” he said in a slightly choked voice.

"Actually"—she walked toward him in a fluid movement—"I was hoping to convince you to do me a little favor."

"I knew it.” His voice rasped.

She tucked her index finger into a gap between two buttons of his shirt. Her lashes fluttered. She gave him what she hoped was a sensual smile. “Do you think you could please pump a few buckets of water so I can take a bath?"

"Another bath?
Christ, I never met a woman who takes as many baths as you do.” Actually, he had. Annie. And he didn't care how many baths Megan took when they stayed at hotels, but it was something different altogether when he was expected to fetch and heat the water.

She pulled away from him, going back to dig in the wardrobe. “Well, I wouldn't need so many if you didn't drag me all over
tarnation
. The trail is dusty. I'm dirty and need a bath."

"Fine,” he
said,
the sexual tension in the room broken. “Where's the pump?"

"In the kitchen."

"And the tub?
I suppose you want me to lug bucket after bucket of hot water all the way upstairs so you can relax in the expensive new tub that you haven't bothered hooking up to running water."

"No. You can bring in the tub from the shed behind the house."

He threw up his hands. “Now I have to go outside?"

"Oh, it won't kill you. And you can wash up as soon as I'm finished.” Her voice softened. “I'll have a pot of coffee and a slice of warm apple pie waiting for you when you're done."

"
Hmph
."

"You should be glad I didn't ask you to fill the tub up here” She smiled while she piled her nightclothes over her arm. The grin remained as she followed a grumbling Lucas to the kitchen.

With the first pot of water on the stove to heat, Megan watched Lucas pump and pour several bucketfuls into the small metal tub. The towels sat on the edge of the table, within reach.

"Anything else, Your Royal Highness?” he asked.

"How about building a fire in the parlor?"

He dropped the empty bucket to the floor with a clatter. “Want me to shoe the horses, maybe build an addition onto the house while I'm at it?"

She shot him a sugar-sweet smile.
“Only if you have the time."

He glared daggers as he stalked out of the room.

She allowed herself only a moment to revel in the warmth of the bathwater before dipping her head under to scrub her hair. She refrained from using her favorite rose soap and bath oils, knowing Lucas would want to use the water afterward. Making quick work of the task, she washed, dried, and changed into her nightdress. “Your turn,” she yelled.

He pushed through the door just as she belted her robe.

"I'll be in the parlor.” She started past him.

He caught her arm. “Oh, no, you don't. I expect that coffee and warm pie you promised."

"I'll fix it as soon as—"

"Uh-uh. You said you'd have it ready when I finished washing up. I want them on the table, both hot enough to take my breath away, the minute I step out of this tub."