A Promise of Roses (24 page)

Megan dealt out five cards to Travis, five to
herself
, then waited for him to trade. She traded two of her own, and the betting began.

The kitty had reached almost fifty dollars before Travis called. “Three of a kind,” he said, proudly displaying his hand.

She started to spread her cards on the desk. “That's better than—"

Travis let out a loud whoop and began gathering his winnings before Megan could finish her sentence.

"You win, boy?” the marshal asked.

"Sure did."

"Wait a minute,” Megan said. “What I started to say was that three of a kind is better than you've gotten so far.” She tapped her cards. “But it still doesn't beat a flush."

"Son of a bitch,” Travis swore, shoving the money toward her.

"Watch your mouth in front of the lady,” Marshal Thompson warned, forgetting he'd used the same curse only moments earlier.

"What's
all the
racket in here?” a deep male voice boomed.

"Caleb!” Megan leapt up from her seat, running into her brother's arms.

"Are you corrupting my sister, Marshal?"

"It was her idea to play poker for cash."

"Who won?"

"I did,” she answered happily.

"
Thatta
girl,” Caleb said. “Mind if I talk to my sister alone, Marshal?"

Thompson waved to the cell. “Be my guest."

With Caleb's arm around her waist, they entered the small space and sat down on the cot.

"This isn't very comfortable, is it?” he asked, hitting the straw mat.

"It's better than sleeping on the ground,” she said, knowing from experience.

His deep blue eyes met hers. “Are you okay?"

"I'm fine."

"Honestly? If you need anything, if anyone's bothering you. I'll..."

"Caleb, I'm fine. Marshal Thompson has been very accommodating. He only locks me in the cell when he and Travis are both gone. Rebecca brought plenty for me to read the last time she stopped by. She even gave me some embroidery.” She rolled her eyes heavenward.
“As if I could ever be bored enough to sew.
And you visit at least once a day. What more could I need?"

"Freedom would be nice."

"I'll have that just as soon as the lawyer you hired gets here from New York City."

"It's going to take more than just his presence to get you out of this mess."

"I know, but it's a start. Marshal Thompson already told you that if Union Pacific wasn't putting up such a fuss about keeping me locked up, he'd have let you bail me out days ago."

"Instead you're sitting here like some kind of criminal."

"They think I am a criminal,” she reminded him. “Please, let's not go through this again. I don't like it any more than you do, but there's nothing else we can do right now. What really bothers me is that I'm stuck here while the Express is about to go under."

"I took care of that."

"Caleb, what did you do?” she asked anxiously.

"I transferred five thousand dollars to your account."

"What?"

"I figure that ought to keep you in business for a while. Even if you don't have much coming in, you'll have money in the bank to keep the Express open. At least until
we
clear your name and you can run things yourself."

She threw her arms around his neck. “Oh, Caleb, you're the most wonderful brother in the world."

"You won't think so if I can't get you out of jail."

"I'll always think so,” she promised. “If it weren't for you, the Adams Express would have gone out of business already."

"'
Scuse
me.
I don't mean to rush you, Caleb, but Travis and I need to go on rounds pretty soon. You know how Friday nights
are
around here,” the marshal said. “If it weren't so rowdy, I wouldn't even worry about it."

"That's all right, Marshal. I was about to leave anyway.” He hugged Megan close. “I'll see you first thing in the morning."

"Tell Rebecca and the children I said hello."

"You're sure you're all right?"

"I'm sure."

He gave her one last squeeze before leaving the jail-house.

"I'm
gonna
have to lock the door,” Thompson said, fitting the big skeleton key in the cell door. “You have everything you need for the night?"

"I think so."

"If it gets too noisy, pull that blanket over the window. And you have the other blanket for privacy,” he said, pointing to the heavy quilt he and Travis had hung earlier in the week. All she had to do was stretch it over the rope and her cell was closed off from the rest of the building.

"I'll stop back later to see how you're doing."

"Thank you,” she said as he moved away from the door. “Good night."

She settled down on the corner of the cot and picked up one of the books Rebecca had given her. After only three pages, she realized she didn't have a clue as to what she'd just read. Her mind was on other things.
One other thing, to be precise.
She couldn't help but wonder where Lucas was, what he was doing, if he was all right.

So much for washing your hands of him, she thought. With a sigh, she picked up the sewing supplies Rebecca had sent. What better way to keep her mind off Lucas than embroidery? After all, she could hardly concentrate on him if she was jabbing herself with a needle every other stitch.

"
Psst
."

Megan rolled to her side, away from the noise that threatened to rouse her from her deep, comfortable sleep.

"
Psst
."

She waved a hand in front of her face, thinking an annoying little insect had gotten through the blanket covering the cell window.

"Wake up,” she heard.

That was definitely not an insect.
Annoying, yes.
Insect, no.
At least she had never met a mosquito that could talk. She threw off the covers, standing on the cot to tear the blanket from the window. Through the bars she saw only the shadow of a face. But she would have known that voice anywhere.

"Lucas!
Oh, God, Lucas.”
She thrust her hands through the bars, ready to throw her arms around his neck and kiss him into oblivion.

Then she remembered that he was the reason she was behind bars to begin with. She curled her fingers around the cold metal instead. She might have missed him like the blue blazes, but he had only been gone a week. A week wasn't nearly enough time to forgive him for not believing in her.

"What are you doing here?” she asked, forcing herself to remain calm and keep her voice steady.

"I came back."

"Obviously,” she said, not giving him the satisfaction of seeing how much it pleased her.

"I'm going to get you out of there,” he said. “Is anyone standing guard?"

"Yes, the marshal, but—"

"Stay put. And keep away from the window."

"But—"

"
Shh
. Don't
make
a sound. I don't want them to get suspicious. Now stand back."

She
retreated
a step, watching as his form moved away from the window. Then she turned and pulled aside the quilt divider, walking out of the open cell. She tiptoed past the marshal dozing at his desk and out into the dark of night. Rounding the corner of the building, she saw Lucas tying one end of a rope to his
saddlehorn
. The other end was already secured to the bars of her cell window.

"Need some help?” she asked.

"No. You just keep quiet and stay away from the window."

She shrugged and backed up a few feet. If he wanted to tear the jail apart, so be it.

He lifted a foot to the stirrup. And then, so fast he almost fell, he spun around to face her.

"What are you doing out here?” he asked in a harsh whisper, his eyes as wide as saucers.

"I came out to see if you needed any help."

"But you're ... But
they
... But you...” He swallowed and tried again. “You're supposed to be locked up.

In jail.
Behind bars.”
He looked toward her cell. “How did you get out?"

"The door was open,” she answered casually, as though every prisoner had the opportunity to walk about freely.

"But the marshal ... he ... you..."

"Don't start that again,” she warned.

He put his hands on his hips. “You're supposed to be locked in that cell. I was coming to break you out. How the hell can you just prance out here like an average, everyday citizen?"

"Simple,” she said. “The marshal didn't believe a word of Brandt's accusation."

He stared at her as though he'd suddenly gone simple-minded.

She went on. “He's keeping me in custody because the railroad pressed charges, and it's the law. But he pretty much gives me the run of the place."

"So this is just like a holiday to you. Sure, it's not as fancy as you're used to, but you get good service and can come and go as you please."

She refused to remark upon such sarcasm. She didn't owe him any explanation. What she owed him was a good, swift kick in the pants.

"If you care to continue this discussion, we'll have to go in.” She rubbed her arms to fend off the evening chill. “Marshal Thompson trusts me to stay inside. It wouldn't do to let him find me out here talking to a man who was about to help me escape."

"Little did I know you didn't need my
assistance.
"

"How could you?” she asked sardonically. “You didn't stay around long enough to find out what happened. For all you cared, I could be hanging from a tree at the other end of town.” With that, she returned to her cell.

Lucas followed a minute later, after untying the rope from the window bars. He moved silently past the marshal to the other end of the jail. Noticing the rope and blanket hanging across the front of the cell, he yanked the partition closed, casting them into
semiprivacy
.

For a moment be just looked at her, taking in every inch of her beautiful body. Ebony hair lighted by the moon, eyes glowing bright even in the darkness of the cell.

A pang of loneliness hit him, even though she was standing three feet in front of him. Lord, he'd missed her. And he loved her. There was no reason to deny it anymore. No need to protect her from the hurt he would cause when he left—because he was never leaving her again.

"Megan,” he said, holding out his arms as he took a step toward her.

"Don't even think about it."

Her words stopped him cold.

"I'm not going to let you just waltz back into my life after the way you treated me. You left.
Just left.
No note, no explanation, not even a good-bye. You disappeared from my life as rudely and abruptly as you entered it."

"Megan, let me—"

"Go to hell,” she snapped. “Do you have any idea how much it hurt when Brandt told me you were gone?
Brandt Donovan, of all people.
Kind of like pouring salt on the wound, wouldn't you say, Lucas?"

"Megan, if you would—"

"All because you're obsessed with finding Silas Scott so you can avenge Annie's death. Well, fine,” she ranted. “If you'd rather spend your life alone, in the saddle, searching for something you're never going to find—and I don't mean Scott—then you go right ahead. But I hope you know what you're missing. I hope you know that you're giving up the best thing that's ever happened to you. When you're ninety years old, you'll finally realize you weren't searching for Silas Scott all those years, you were looking for satisfaction.
Contentment.
Peace.
Maybe a little piece of happiness.
But that comes from love, companionship, and understanding. You won't find it out there,” she said, pointing into the distance.

"I know,” Lucas answered simply.

"And don't even try to tell me it's your duty to track down Scott. That excuse is wearing thin. You're just running away, and someday you're going to have to admit it."

"I know,” he said, a little louder this time, though neither of them had spoken above a whisper since entering the jail.

"That's such a—” She stopped and looked at him—really looked at him for the first time since his return. “Did you say you know?"

He nodded.

"You know what?” she asked warily.

"I know you're right. Every word you said is the truth. Why do you think I came back?"

"Oh, no!” she gasped. “You killed him, didn't you? You finally found Silas Scott, and you killed him."

"I wanted to,” he said between clenched teeth. “But I didn't."

The air left her lungs in a rush of relief. “Then why did you come back?” she asked, crossing her arms beneath her breasts. “Because you felt guilty leaving me here to face a hangman's noose alone?"

"No,” he said matter-of-factly. “I came back because I love you."

Her eyes widened in disbelief, and her whole body went rigid with shock. He thought that if he sneezed, she would probably fall over.

"Do you remember what you said to me that night we made camp by the
Cottonwood
River
?
About roses?"

She narrowed her eyes. “No,” she said, though he could tell by her expression that she did.

"You said that every winter snow and ice cover the roses. And every spring the sun melts the ice, and the roses bloom again, as big and as beautiful as before.” He stepped close, putting his hands on her arms. “And then you told me that my heart was like those roses. It was covered with so much pain and hatred that I thought it was dead. But then I met you, and just like the sun melts the snow, you melted the ice around my heart.

"I love you, Megan. It finally penetrated my thick skull. I finally figured out that I'm not searching for vengeance so much as I'm trying to find peace. I won't get that by killing Silas Scott."

Tears brimmed in Megan's eyes, but she made no move to embrace him. “I'm glad you finally came to your senses."

Lucas's eyes widened. “That's it? You're not going to throw your arms around me and tell me how much you missed me?"

She made a noise that seemed to be part sniff, part scorn. “Not bloody likely,” she retorted.

All the images in his head of a soft, feminine, loving, ecstatic Megan disappeared like mist off a lake on a warm summer day. His eyebrows drew together, and his mouth turned down in a frown. “You mean I rode without stopping, night and day, just to be with you again, and all you can say is ‘not bloody likely'?"

"That's right."

He shook his head as if to clear it. “Didn't you hear me?” he asked. “I said I love you."

"I heard,” she said solemnly. “It just doesn't matter anymore."

Lucas started mumbling under his breath. Somehow he'd gone from being the man of her dreams to the dirt she scraped off her boots after walking through a cow pasture. “What in God's name is going on?” he asked aloud.

He saw her spine straighten and knew he was in trouble.

"I'm in jail, and you're leaving."

He stood his ground. “I'm not going anywhere until you tell me what the hell is going on."

"Nothing is going on, Lucas. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'd like to go back to sleep."

"A week ago you were telling me that you loved me, begging me not to leave."

"I never begged,” she clarified.

Ignoring her statement, he continued. “Now you're acting as though I'm the last person on earth you ever wanted to see again."

"You are."

"Why? I love you—I told you that. What more do you want from me?"

She
laughed,
a short, wild laugh. “Do you really want to know?” she asked.

"
Yes!
” He wanted to know what the hell was going on.

"All right, I'll tell you. I want to be the most important thing in your life."

"You are,” he said, as though everyone in the world knew it. As though it had been prophesied thousands of years ago, written upon ancient stone tablets as proof for all time.

"No,” she said. “No, I'm not. Otherwise you wouldn't have left again to go after Silas Scott."

"You know why I went, Megan."

"Yes, I know. And I understand. But what I don't understand,” she said, her tone sharpening, “is how you can love me and still think I'm responsible for the payroll robberies."

His eyes widened. “That's what this is about?
Those stupid payrolls?"

She huffed, frustration seething from every pore. “No, Lucas, this is not about the payrolls.” She paced the length of the cell. “It's about trust. It's about believing what another person says, even if your logical mind says it can't be true. You claim to love me, but you obviously don't trust me, or you would have believed me when I told you I had nothing to do with the robberies. You never would have turned me over to Brandt, knowing he was going to put me in jail."

"He hired me to track down the bandits, and he said you were their ringleader. When I found you with them, it was my duty to bring you in."

Megan's whole body shook from the effort it took not to hit him. She took a deep breath and tried yet again to get through to him. “Yes. Yes, Lucas, it was your duty to Brandt and the Union Pacific Railroad to turn me in. But what I'm saying is that if you loved me, you would have believed me when I told you I was innocent. You would have tried to convince Brandt of my innocence. You would have tried to help me prove my innocence. Instead, you threw me to the wolves and went off on your misbegotten search for Silas Scott."

"But now I'm back,” Lucas said. “And I do love you."

"Do you believe that I didn't have anything to do with the railroad payrolls being stolen?"

His slight pause told her all she needed to know. Even if he wanted to believe her, he still wasn't completely sure.

"I think you'd better leave now,” she said quietly.

"Megan—"

She put a hand to her temple. “I'm tired, Lucas. Just go."

After several long minutes, she heard the rustle of the blanket as he slipped out of the cell, his footsteps as he left the jailhouse. She
laid
down on the cot and pulled the scratchy wool cover up around her neck, feeling even more desolate than when she'd realized she would actually be going to jail.