A Promise of Roses (20 page)

"Oh, no,” Rebecca said over her shoulder as she crossed the threshold. “We've got an awful lot of work to do around the house.
It's
best we just drop off some things for you. If you need anything, though, you know where to find us."

Megan started out the door after her family, but Lucas put an arm around her waist to pull her back. She gave him a look of annoyance.

"You're not dressed,” he whispered in her ear.

She looked down, aghast to find that the robe she'd so hastily thrown on hid next to nothing of her nakedness. Her face flamed as she turned and fled upstairs, leaving a loudly laughing Lucas behind.

"Are you crazy? What are you doing leaving her alone with that man?"

"Exactly that,” Rebecca said.

"There's no telling what he's doing to her in that house."

She chuckled. “Oh, I think it's pretty obvious what they've been doing."

"That's it!” Caleb did an about-face, ready to charge to his sister's rescue.

Rebecca grabbed his arm, doing her best to control her husband and keep from jostling the baby at the same time. “Caleb, don't you dare. I seem to recall your sister turning twenty-one not long ago. She's old enough to take care of herself and make her own decisions."

"She's just a kid. And that bastard is taking advantage of her."

"Zachary, get into the buggy,” she said, hoping to get him farther away from his father's less-than-exemplary language. “You told me you
grew up
when you were only sixteen. Megan has waited much longer than you did."

"It's not the same thing,” Caleb argued, his jaw clenched tight. “She's a girl. And he's got to be nearly twice her age,"

She laughed at his
overexaggeration
. “I hardly think he's that old, Caleb."

"Well, he's at least five years older than she is. And he's taking advantage of her. How long do you think he'll stick around, Rebecca? Huh? Not long, I tell you. He'll run off and leave her with a broken heart.
Or worse.”
The muscle in his jaw jumped. “I don't want to see her hurt."

"Neither do
I
. But she's a smart girl, sweetheart. She knows he'll leave. But she still wants to be with him. I think you need to let her make her own decisions. After all, if he makes her happy—even if it's only for a little while—shouldn't we let her be happy?"

Caleb wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her close. He buried his face in her hair. “Did I ever tell you that I hate it when you're right?"

She smiled. “You only hate my being right because it means you're wrong."

He lifted his head and helped her into the buggy. “Let's get going,” he said. “The sooner we get home, the sooner we can be back here with that box you promised Megan."

"Don't you think we should get out of bed now?"

Lucas pulled her closer, wrapping his arm more tightly around her waist. “Why?"

She propped herself up on his chest to stare down at the peaceful contours of his face. His eyes remained closed even as he carried on a conversation. “Because we've hardly moved from this bed in four days,” she reminded him.

"We got out this morning."

"We fell out. That doesn't count."

"I remember,” he said, his lips curving. “It counts."

"My brother wants to kill you."

"He can try."

"He probably thinks I'm no better than a harlot."

He gave her waist a squeeze. “But you're
my
harlot."

"That's not funny, Lucas,” she said, slapping his chest playfully. “My reputation is at stake here."

"Nobody but your brother knows you're here. I doubt he'll be the one to spread rumors."

She let the subject drop, knowing it to be a lost cause. “What about your friend Brandt?” she asked instead.

He groaned but, other than that, didn't move. “What about him?"

"Shouldn't he be here soon?"

"When did I send the wire?"

"Thursday"

"What day is this?"

"Tuesday."

He groaned again. “Shit. We've been in bed that long?"

"Except for the time you chased me into the backyard."

"I didn't chase you. You ran away. And I don't recall your complaining when I made love to you in the flower garden."

"It was the vegetable garden, and I was much too preoccupied to complain."

Several minutes passed silently. Then Lucas asked, “What were we talking about?"

"Brandt Donovan."

"Think he made it into town yet?"

"Where was he coming from?"

"The Union Pacific office in
Missouri
."

"It's only a day's ride by train. He's probably been in town for the past few days."

"Damn."

"Don't you think you ought to go look for him?"

"Probably.”
But he made no move to do so.

"Should I be wearing a dress when I meet him? I hate the blasted things, but it might make a better impression than my trousers. Of course, I probably made a pretty good impression the day he came to the Express.” She paused, nibbling her lower lip.

Lucas cracked open one eye to look at her.
“What did you do?"

"I threw a pot of coffee at him."

His chest rumbled with laughter.

"It wasn't hot,” she defended herself. “I would never throw hot coffee at anyone."

"Why not?
You stabbed me with a fork."

"You deserved that, and you know it. Now, are you going to go after your friend or not?” She sat up. The sheet dropped to her waist. “I'd better wash and dress. Lord, I hope I can find a gown that fits; I haven't worn one in ages."

She crawled over Lucas and across the bed on her hands and knees. “Maybe I'll just wear one of the skirts you bought me."

An arm wrapped around her waist from behind, hauling her back down on the mattress. She let out a cry of surprise,
then
settled comfortably against Lucas's warm chest.

"Maybe that can wait until later."

But Brandt is waiting for you in town."

He nibbled the lobe of her ear, stroked his palm over her stomach. “Let him wait."

Brandt Donovan stood at the bar of the Dog Tick, minding his own business, sipping a drink. Next he'd try a shot of whiskey. Maybe that would taste better than the glass of flat, warm beer in his hand.

Then maybe he'd go track down that no-good friend of his.
I'll wait for you in Leavenworth,
Lucas had said in his wire.
Meet me at the hotel.
Brandt had been waiting for three days, and still no sign of McCain.

He made a face, pushing aside the tasteless beer. With a flip of his wrist, he signaled the barkeep. “Whiskey,” he said to the older, thick-
middled
man. He tipped back the shot glass, disappointed to find he had been wrong. The whiskey wasn't any better than the beer.

So maybe he'd give up on drinking altogether. A woman, that's what he needed. His eyes roamed the length of the mirror behind the bar, stopping on the painting of a very beautiful, very naked dark-haired woman on the opposite wall. Too bad she wasn't around, he thought. He could easily spend a long, luxurious hour in her arms.

His gaze returned to the reflections of a gaggle of giggling, large-bosomed women leaning over the arms of several half-drunk, rowdy cowboys. He decided on the petite blond one. She didn't look too used, and he guessed she was even a bit afraid of men, judging by the way she drew back at any sudden movement. He'd give her an hour or so of pleasure without fear. After all, the only thing about him that had ever frightened women was the size of his manhood. He drew himself up to his full height, puffing out his chest. And he'd always been able to caress away their doubts, make them glad he was so big.

He turned around, prepared to offer the blonde a tidy sum for the night, when he saw what had to be a mirage.
A vision.
His imagination.
Unless his mind was playing tricks on him, the woman in the painting had just come to life. And she was headed in his direction.

Brandt swallowed, silently thanking his friend for not showing up yet.

"Looking at anything particular?” she asked, wetting her lips in a slow, sensual motion. She seemed to enjoy the fact that he openly ogled her breasts where they nearly overflowed from the bodice of her skintight, bright-red gown.

He regained his equilibrium just before his mouth fell open and his tongue rolled to the floor. Raising his eyes to her face, he assumed a relaxed position against the bar. “I was thinking of taking that little blond piece upstairs,” he said, nodding his head in the girl's direction.

"Madge,” the dark-haired woman said.
“Sweet, but not nearly as experienced as some of the others."

"Oh? Then whom would you suggest?"

She inspected his form from head to toe, taking her time, thinking it over. “For a man like
yourself—
tall, strong, intelligent—I'd offer someone with a little more ... finesse."

He raised an eyebrow at her choice of words. He almost laughed out loud. She was the first person he'd met in this
cowtown
who could put a sentence together without using
ain't
.
He couldn't wait to tell Lucas that Leavenworth's prostitutes were better educated than its shop owners!

"Do you have anyone who fits that description?” he asked.

Her right shoulder lifted in a casual shrug, causing the thin strap of her dress to fall down her arm. “There is one, I believe."

"Ah. Tell me about her."

"Tall,” she said, stepping closer to show that her height all but equaled his own.
“Dark hair.
Smooth olive skin.
A lithe, shapely figure.”
She pressed herself to his chest, letting him get a feel for her ample offerings. “More than enough to fill a man's ... fantasies. I think it would be fair to say she can take care of any man's needs—all night long."

"And just how much would this enchanting creature cost me?"

"There's no need to talk about that now,” she said, running her arm around his elbow. “We can take care of all that after I take care of you."

At this point, he was too damn hard to argue about it. And he figured he could afford it, whatever the price. So he followed her through the crowd, up the flight of hollow, rickety steps, and into a room at the farthest end of the hall.

For a whore's bedroom, it was quite large. But then, this one did have her likeness—every last detail—hanging downstairs for
all the
world to see. Maybe that had something to do with the accommodations.

"You sure like red, don't you?” he asked.

She only laughed.

Red carpet, red curtains, red sheets.
Her red dress, red shoes, and red stockings should have clued him in. But he could deal with all that. After all, he didn't plan on spending too much time studying his surroundings.

"What's your name?” he asked, having always had a strange need to know the name of a woman before he slept with her.

"Ruby,” she said.

Not surprised in the least, he rolled his eyes. That's when the mirror caught his attention. How it stayed secured to the ceiling he didn't know, and, truth be known, he didn't particularly care.

"I'm starting to like it here,” he said. “Any town that has a room with a mirror above the bed can't be all bad."

Ruby threw him a coy glance as she tossed her mane of hair over one shoulder, giving him her back. “Slip this dress off, mister, and I'll show you exactly why that mirror is there."

He smiled and took a step forward. She didn't have to tell him twice.

In the doorway, Ruby leaned close to plant a hard, wet kiss to Brandt's cheek. He pressed a couple of extra bills into her palm with the promise that he would return. And he would. There was no way he'd leave town without enjoying a repeat performance. He was seriously considering having a mirror installed above his own bed back in Boston.

He left the Dog Tick whistling, not the least perturbed that the buttons of his shirt didn't seem to be in the proper holes. He stepped off the plank sidewalk, about to cross the street to the hotel, when a heavy, solid object nudged him square in the back.

"Keep
walkin
',” a low voice behind him commanded.

Brandt kept to an easy
pace,
walking straight ahead until the gun barrel pressed into his spine directed him otherwise. They stopped in the alley between the hotel and the dry goods store, away from prying eyes.

"Hate to disappoint you, mister,” Brandt said, “but I just spent my last dollar on a whore over at the saloon. The best I can give you is this ring.” He held up his left hand to show the gold band on his little finger. A circle of tiny diamonds surrounded the letters UP.

The pressure of the gun at his back lessened. “What do I want with your stupid ring? For all I know, Union Pacific was too damn cheap to use real diamonds."

"Oh, they're real all right.” Slowly, Brandt turned around. “I thought you said you'd meet me at the hotel."

"I did. You weren't there."

"I've been waiting three days. A man can't be expected to go that long without a little feminine companionship."

"That kind of pastime will get you killed one day. Your guard is always down after you leave a woman's room."

"Which is pretty damn often,” Brandt admitted, grinning broadly.

Lucas shook his head. “You're lucky to have made it this long."

"Have you been over to the Dog Tick?” Brandt asked.

"Not yet."

Brandt gave a long whistle, tucking his hands into his pants pockets as he rolled back on the heels of his boots. “There's this girl named Ruby,” he said. “She's got a mirror hanging above her bed.” His brow furrowed. “I wonder if any of the other rooms have mirrors. Maybe I ought to go see."

"Check it out later,” Lucas said. He grabbed his friend's arm and pointed him in the direction of the hotel. “Right now you need to get your things so I can take you out to the house."

"What house?” Brandt asked, balking. “Where have you been all this time?"

Lucas didn't answer but kept walking.

"Hey. I'm not taking another step until you tell me what the hell is going on. You wired me less than a week ago, telling me to haul my ass down to Leavenworth as fast as I could, but when I get here,
I
end up waiting for
you.
Care to explain that to me?"

Lucas shook his head, fighting the urge to hit something—or someone. “First Megan, now you,” he mumbled instead.

"Megan?” his friend asked, bewildered. And then it dawned on him. “Oh, yes, Megan.
The infamous Miss Adams.
You've had her in custody all this time.” His eyes widened meaningfully. “No wonder you're late."

"I got held up, all right? I'm here now, so let's go.” He took a step forward, only to be stopped in his tracks by Brandt's next question.

"Did you sleep with her?"

"Why is everyone so damned concerned all of a sudden about who I take to my bed?"

"So you did."

"I didn't say that,” Lucas snapped.

"You didn't have to. She's a criminal, Lucas. For all you know, she orchestrated the entire string of robberies, had power enough over five men to get them to carry out her plans."

"Or maybe she was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Did you ever think of that, Brandt? Or are you too damn thick-skulled to admit that you were wrong to suspect her in the first place?"

"Do you have any evidence to prove she's not guilty?"

"Do you have any to prove she is?"