A Promise of Roses (23 page)

It worked. They arrived in town just before sundown without another syllable spoken between them. Brandt held her hand as she alighted from the carriage, but she quickly shook off his touch, choosing to walk into Marshal Thompson's office of her own volition.

"Miss Adams!” the marshal said, leaping up from his chair.

She supposed it was rather shocking to see her in anything other than men's clothing.

"It's good to see you back and safe. What can I do for you, Miss Adams?"

"Not for me, Marshal,” she answered. She stood in front of his desk, waiting for Brandt to explain. She might be cooperating, but she sure as all-fired hell wasn't going to turn herself in for something she hadn't done.

"Marshal,” Brandt said, holding out his hand to the older gentleman. “My name is Brandt Donovan.
Head of security for the Union Pacific Railroad."

"Glad to meet you,” Thompson said. “Have a seat. What can I do for you?"

Megan sat in silence, her lips pursed as Brandt recounted all the events leading up to this moment. She didn't interrupt with the truth or even try to defend herself. But it pleased her no end that Marshal Thompson obviously didn't believe a word Brandt Donovan said. The longer Brandt talked, the more the marshal's mouth fell open.

"Megan?” he asked, dumbfounded. “You think Megan Adams is responsible for your troubles?"

"I'm afraid so, sir,” Brandt answered. “We've investigated several avenues, and each leads back to her."

"Megan Adams?” the marshal asked again, his eyes wide with disbelief. Then he turned to her. “Is any of what he says true?"

"Parts of it,” she said. “Like the fact that the payrolls have been
stolen,
and that I was driving the stage the day I disappeared. But if you're asking me if I had anything to do with the robberies, my answer is a resounding no. No, I did not plan the robberies. No, I did not give any information to the thieves."

"Then why are you here?” he asked. “I'd never take you to be the kind of person to sit still and let your reputation
be
slandered."

She smiled at his perception. “It's a very long story, Marshal. Suffice it to say that I decided I would be found innocent sooner rather than later if I allowed myself to be brought in. If I put up a fight or tried to run, things would only be harder. I'm innocent. It's up to Mr. Donovan and Union Pacific to prove otherwise."

"But you know that if I put you in a cell, everyone will think you're guilty."

"There's no helping that, I guess. But I am innocent, and I believe that will be proven in time."

The marshal drummed his fingers on the desk. “Your brother will have my hide if I lock you up."

"Her brother has nothing to do with this,” Brandt said, a hard edge entering his voice. “She's a criminal. It's your job to put her behind bars."

"I don't guess you've met Caleb Adams,” the marshal muttered.

"No, but—"

"It's all right,” Megan said. “I've already talked to Caleb. He knows everything and is, at this very moment, finding an attorney to represent me."

"I see.” The wrinkles in Marshal Thompson's forehead deepened in thought.

"Are you going to arrest her or not, Marshal?” Brandt asked.

Thompson looked at Megan, then at Brandt, then back at Megan.

"It's all right, Marshal Thompson,” she said. “I don't mind."

Brandt threw up his hands, kicking back his chair. “I don't believe this! She's a criminal, for God's sake, and you wait for her permission to arrest her? What kind of lawman are you?"

The marshal came to his feet slowly.
“The kind that doesn't take kindly to you coming in here accusing a lady of stealing."

"I don't give a good God damn if she's the queen of England. She broke the law, and it's your job to see that she pays for it."

"Now, you listen here, sonny-boy,” the marshal said, pointing a finger at Brandt's chest. “Right now I'm more likely to lock
you
up for insulting an officer of the law and being an all-around pain in the ass.” His gaze darted to Megan.
“Sorry, Miss Adams."

"That's all right, Isaiah."

He returned to upbraiding Brandt. “Nothing boils my blood faster than you city folk coming into my town and telling me the way things ought to run. So I'm giving you fair warning: Show some respect, or I'll send your mangy carcass back to your big city in a pine box. Got it?"

Brandt didn't answer, but his face burned with indignation.

"Miss Adams is a fine, upstanding citizen,” the marshal continued. “Her father started one of the first businesses in this town. Got the place up and running, he did. Megan
ain't
got
no
reason to take anyone else's money. You remember that.

"Now,” he said, smoothing the front of his vest, “I'm going to put her under arrest, but only because she thinks it's for the best. If I had my way, I'd set her free and let
you
cool your heels for a couple of hours in that cell."

He came around to the front of the desk, holding a hand out to her. “Miss Adams,” he said, “if you'll come with me.” He led her to an iron-barred cell in the corner. “Folks might not see you so easy back here,” he told her.

"Thank you. And, Marshal,” she said as she entered the cell that would be her new home for a while. “If my brother and Rebecca should come—"

"I'll send them right back to see you."

She thanked him again, then, touching his sleeve, whispered, “Don't be too hard on Mr. Donovan. He's only doing his job."

He grunted. “He needs to learn his place, if you ask me,” he said before returning to his desk and a very unhappy Brandt Donovan.

She smiled when she realized he'd left the cell door open.

Lucas drew a deep breath, held it,
then
exhaled a long stream of tobacco smoke. He'd been standing outside the saloon for nearly an hour. The stamped-out remnants of a dozen cigarettes attested to that. He only smoked when he was anxious. And he figured waiting for Silas Scott counted.

It had taken him nearly a week since leaving Leaven-worth to find the bastard. He'd crossed over into
Missouri
and traveled through Kansas City and Independence before finally tracking him to the outskirts of
Chilhowee
.

And he had missed Megan every inch of the way.

Damn it, why couldn't he get her out of his head? One minute he was sure he wanted nothing more than to strangle Silas Scott with his bare hands. The next he found himself imagining those same hands splayed over Megan's firm bottom and fall breasts. More than once he'd been tempted to turn Worthy around and go back for her.

As if she would be happy to see him! He had all but locked the cell door on her himself. How could he possibly expect her to forgive him for that? Even if she could—by some miracle—get past the fact that he'd put her in jail, she would never be able to forget that he hadn't trusted her enough to believe her when she said she was innocent of the crime.

A loud ruckus behind the bat-wing doors of the Tommy Two Fingers Saloon snapped him out of his thoughts of Megan. He pulled his hat down another fraction of an inch, not wanting to be recognized. Not that that was likely, but he'd been a bounty hunter long enough to know that outlaws sometimes showed up in the least likely places. At any moment one of them might point a finger, and every criminal in town would be on him like quills on a porcupine.

He concentrated on rolling another smoke, trying to hear through the commotion of
drunk
cowboys and giddy prostitutes for any hint of Scott's departure. Striking a match on the side of the building, he held the flame to the tip of his cigarette. With a few short puffs, the tobacco caught. He shook out the match and tossed it into the street.

He whirled around at the scrape of a shoe on the plank sidewalk behind him. A tall, leggy blonde had emerged from the shadowy alley next to the saloon.

"You've been out here a long time, mister."

He took another drag on the cigarette.

"Care to join me inside?” She twisted a fat sausage curl around her index finger.

"Nope."

Hips swaying, she moved forward, touching a hand to his chest. She fiddled with one of the buttons on his shirt.
“You sure?
I can make it worth your while."

"Truth is, sweetheart,” he said, catching her hand before it could venture below his gun belt, “I'm broke."

The sides of her mouth turned down in a pout.

"But if you help me out, I might just be able to find me a little cash."

She smiled a bit.
“How?"

"Have you seen a man in there, about yea high"—he held up a hand to show Scott's approximate height—"with a black-and-silver beard?"

"Ugly as a boar hog's behind?” she asked.

"Real ugly."

"Yeah, I think I saw him with Penny."

"He still in there?"

"If he's with Penny, he is. What do you want with him?"

"He owes me some money,” Lucas lied easily. He put an arm around her waist, pulling her close. “You see, if I can get my money back from him, then I just might be able to spend an hour or so upstairs with you."

"Oh, goody.”
She grinned. The curls piled atop her head shook precariously as she bounced up and down.

He didn't let himself think for one minute that she was excited about getting him into bed. She wanted his cash, and that was all there was to it.

"There a back entrance to this place?” he asked, knowing there had to be if she'd been able to sneak up behind him. “I don't like to call a man a debtor in front of other men."

She grabbed his arm and tugged him through the alley to a small, worn door hanging from loose hinges. She led him up a set of squeaky back stairs. A long hallway stretched before them, rows of doors on either side.

"This is Penny's room,” she whispered when they got to the fifth door on the right.

He fit his ear to the wooden portal. From the moans and groans echoing inside, he decided the room was most definitely still occupied.

"Come on,” the girl urged, pulling on his arm.

He shook her off, wanting to stay and wait for Scott to finish his business and come out so he could finish his.

"Come on,” she said again. “There's another way in."

Lucas gave up and followed. She led him farther down the hall, around one corner, then another, until they seemed to be almost back where they'd started.

"Not everybody knows about this room,” she said, her hand turning on the knob. “But sometimes we bring customers in here when they, you know ... want to watch."

It took a minute for Lucas's eyes to adjust to the darkness of the tiny space. A long chaise lounge took up the center of the room. Thick, heavy draperies covered one whole wall. “What is this?” he asked.

Her fingers curled around the cord to the curtains. She pulled, and the deep cherry-red pieces of material slowly began to part. “It's the viewing room,” she told him, smiling.

A huge window appeared before his eyes, and the stunning sight before him drove him back a step. His legs hit the edge of the chaise. He dropped to its soft cushion with a plop.

"How did this get here?” he asked, as though it might have dropped from the sky.

"Sally had it put in. She saw one like it when she worked in Reno and said it would be a big success here. We don't tell everybody about it, though, or they'd all want to use it. And this is the only one we've got. Penny gets the room next to it ‘
cause
she gets the most customers. And she'll do things the rest of us won't."

Lucas could see that.
From each bedpost hung sets of thick iron shackles.
Several quirts and whips of various sizes lay scattered about the room. And he didn't even want to know what she did with the horse harness sitting in the corner.

Her activities with Silas Scott, however, seemed fairly tame, though from the grunts and groans they emitted, one would think they were building a barn or doing some other strenuous work. With her back to him, legs straddling his hips, she rode him with an ease born from years of experience.

The blonde sauntered forward, stroking Lucas's shoulder and chest. “Do you like to watch?” she asked in a low, husky voice. She didn't wait for him to answer. Her fingers drifted down his torso, across his hard thigh. “You can pay me later,” she offered. “I don't mind."

The sounds inside Penny's room
crescendoed
, reaching an ear-splitting peak. Then all was silent. Lucas pushed the blonde away and reached for his Peacemaker, moving to the door he'd noticed as soon as he set foot in this secret room.

His companion opened her mouth to speak, but Lucas shushed her with a finger to his own lips. He turned the knob, opening the door inch by agonizingly slow inch, praying the hinges would remain silent long enough for him to get the drop on Scott.

"Thanks,
darlin
',” Scott said, reaching for his pants.

"My pleasure,” Penny returned, sliding toward the headboard. She tossed her mane of fiery red hair over one shoulder. As she did so, she caught a glimpse of Lucas and gasped.

"Glad you two are feeling so amicable,” he said, stepping from the shadow of the secret doorway. “Maybe you won't mind standing up for me, Scott. Nice and easy,” he said, motioning with the barrel of his gun. “Keep your hands where I can see them."

"I hope you said your prayers, McCain,” Scott sneered.
“Because I'm going to send you to your Maker."

"Not if I send you to Him first."

"Look,
fellas
,” Penny said, standing at the end of the bed completely naked. “I don't know what all you've got against each other, but keep me out of it.” Lowering one arm, she grabbed the corner of a sheet, dragging it up to cover her nudity. “I've already been paid, so I'll just leave you two alone to work out your differences."

Lucas let her sidle her way to the door. She opened it and started out, only to stick her head back in. “Hey, mister,” she said to him, “
try
not to get too much blood on them sheets. Laundry day
ain't
till Monday.” With that, she closed the door behind her.

Lucas stared at Silas, taking in every wrinkle and roll of his old, abused body. For the first time since his quest for vengeance had begun, he wondered what could have happened to turn Scott into such a
blackhearted
, coldblooded killer. Surely he had started out like any other child, innocent and pure.

"Go ahead and pull the trigger, McCain."

"Don't rush me,” Lucas said. “I've been waiting for this a hell of a long time. I intend to make it last."

The sounds of running feet began below them, climbing until they reached the second floor.

"I wouldn't wait too long, if I was you,” Scott warned.

Lucas's finger tightened on the trigger, but he didn't shoot.

In the second of his hesitation, chaos erupted. The door burst open. A crowd of people flooded the room, Penny jostling about in the mass. Scott struck out, slapping Lucas's gun arm with the trousers in his hand. He dove for the window, grabbing the holster on the bedside table on his way out.

Lucas raced for the window, reaching it in time to see Scott struggling into his pants as he ran down the alley. “God damn it!” he swore, pounding the sill with his fist.

"What the hell's going on in here?” the hulk of a man at the front of the crowd demanded.

Lucas took one look at him and knew he'd rather take his chances flying out the window than fighting this Goliath. “Just a friendly chat,” he answered.

The giant took a step forward.

Lucas holstered his weapon, at the same time preparing to jump. With a smile and a pleasant good-night, he flung himself out the window.

Lucas followed Scott's trail for seven hours. By the time the sun appeared on the horizon, he was so tired and so disillusioned, he could hardly see straight. Dismounting, he ran his hands through his hair in frustration,
then
dropped to the ground in a heap of exhaustion. He was never going to find Scott. He was never going to avenge Annie and Chad's murders. He was never going to be at peace. The only time he'd ever even glimpsed
tranquillity
was when he'd been with Megan.

That knowledge couldn't have winded him more than a horse's hind kick to the gut.

Megan had been right. She'd told him that someday he'd realize revenge wasn't the answer. One day, she said, he'd discover that he no longer hated as much, no longer wanted to dedicate his life to finding and killing a man.

He could hear her speaking of roses in winter as though she were there with him, whispering the words in his ear.
In winter, snow and ice cover them, sometimes so brutally that you think nothing could possibly live for months under those conditions. Then spring comes, and the snow melts. And before you know it, tiny rosebuds appear. It seems like a miracle—until you realize that all they really needed was a little sunshine to melt the ice. It's like a never-ending promise from God.
A promise of roses to bloom every spring.
The ice will melt someday, Lucas. All you have to do is let a little sunshine into your heart.

The ice will melt someday. All you have to do is let a little sunshine into your heart.

Lucas wondered if Megan realized just how strong her love really was.
As brilliant as the sun, shining day and night.
Warm enough to melt the icy shield of hatred guarding his heart.

He got to his feet, dusted off the back of his pants, and reached for the reins. “Well, Worthy, old boy, what do you say?"

The gelding shook his head, pawing the ground.

"Me, too,” Lucas agreed. “Let's go home."

"Full house."

"Son of a bitch!”
Thompson threw his cards down on the table. “How'd you get so good at poker?” he asked.

"Practice,” she answered.

"Does your brother know you gamble?"

She shot him a bright smile. “Who do you think taught me?"

"Deal me out,” he said. “I've played cards with your brother, and if he taught you, there's no way I'm going to risk my whole paycheck. Travis, if you know what's good for you, you'll quit, too."

"She's just a gal,” the deputy said, scratching his scalp beneath the rim of his sweaty Stetson.

Marshal Thompson gave a hoot of laughter as he got up to stretch his legs. “Don't say I didn't warn
ya
. You want some coffee, Meg?"

"Sure. You staying in, Deputy?"

"Yep.
I
ain't
lettin
’
no
girl beat me at cards."

Another guffaw reached their ears from across the room, where Thompson was pouring coffee.