A Promise of Roses (25 page)

Lucas still didn't know what had crawled under Megan's skin to make her so ornery. He thought the only thing women wanted was to hear “I love you.” He'd said it, and she'd kicked him out like she would a dog with muddy paws.

He crossed the dusty street, stepped up onto the next sidewalk, and headed into the lobby of the Wilkes Hotel. The young man at the front desk straightened his slouched posture, coming forward from his seat in the corner.

"Can I help you, sir?"

"You got a Brandt Donovan staying here?” he asked, sliding the sign-in register closer to take a look for himself.

"That man the railroad sent? Sure do. I don't think he'll
be wanting
visitors this time of night, though."

Lucas searched out the room number next to Brandt's name. “He'll see me” he said, tapping the page before starting up to the second floor.

When he got to Brandt's room, he lifted his fist and pounded on the door. Black curses colored the air. Lucas grinned and pounded some more.

"This place had better be on fire,” he heard just before the door flew open.

Clutching a tangled sheet to his waist, Brandt squinted at Lucas. “Christ,” he swore, slamming the door in his friend's face.

Lucas turned the knob and walked in behind Brandt, who was crawling back into bed.

"What the hell are you doing here?” Donovan muttered into a pillow.

"I need a little favor."

"Me, too.”
Brandt punched the pillow before burying his face deeper into the center of it. “I need you to leave me alone so I can get some sleep."

Lucas reached over to steal his friend's sheet. Brandt remained still, not caring that he was now completely naked.

'That's what you get for spending all night at the saloon."

"Like you haven't done the same thing,” Brandt said, rolling over. “And give me back the damn covers."

Lucas handed back the sheet. “I just hope you didn't spend all your cash on some sweet-talking blonde,” he said, knowing his friend's penchant for fair-haired women. Light hair meant light skirts, or so Brandt had always claimed.

Finally realizing Lucas wasn't going to
leave,
Brandt struggled into a sitting position. He tucked the sheet around his hips and rested his head against the headboard. “Why do you care how much I spent?” he asked, dragging a hand across his face.

"I need a little loan."

Brandt groaned. “I'm not giving you any more money to waste on your wild goose chase for Silas Scott. If you're broke, get a job. Hell, I'll even get you a position with Union Pacific security, if that's what you want."

"I don't want a job. And I don't want the money so I can keep after Scott."

His friend sighed. “Then what do you need it for?"

"A ring."

Brandt's eyes slowly opened.
“A ring.
What kind of ring?"

"An engagement ring.
With a big diamond—as big as I can find around here, anyway."

"An engagement ring.
A diamond engagement ring.”
Brandt repeated it as though he'd never heard of such a thing. Then he jumped up from the bed, the sheet covering him forgotten. “Holy Christ, you did it, didn't you? You really did it."

"Did what?"

"You came back for Megan. You asked her to marry you."

"I came back for Megan,” Lucas said. “But I didn't ask her to marry me."

"Why not?"

"I didn't get the chance. She kicked me out."

"What?"

"You heard me. I told her I loved her, and she told me to go to hell."

"I've been telling you that for years,” Brandt said under his breath.

"Don't you think you ought to get some pants on?” Lucas asked, irritated.

Brandt looked down.
“Oh, yeah.”
He reached for a pair of tan trousers wrinkled into a ball on the floor. “Why did she boot you out?"

"She said that if I really loved her, I would have believed in her innocence."

"And?"

"And I wouldn't have left again to go after Scott."

"Oh, God, I almost forgot.” Brandt's usually dark complexion paled. “If you're back, that means you did it. You killed Scott."

Lucas moved to the window. He took in the whole length of the town.
At one end stood the church that doubled as a schoolhouse.
In the middle
was
the mercantile, the hotel, and the Adams Express. Then
came
the saloon, the livery, and the jail. Not a bad little town. He supposed he ought to get used to it if he was going to put down roots here.

Brandt's voice interrupted his thoughts, repeating the question he'd been trying to avoid.

He'd given up on personally tracking down and killing Scott. That he could deal with. But it didn't mean the bastard didn't deserve to die. That fact still ate at his gut, no matter how hard he tried to tamp it down.

"Oh, God.
You
did
kill him, didn't you? You tortured him and killed him, and now you're running from the law."

"Will you lose your job if UP finds out you're harboring a fugitive?"

"You're damn right.” He started pulling on an equally wrinkled white cotton shirt. “Look, Lucas, you're my best friend. You know I would do almost anything for you. If you needed food or money, I'd give it to you. Hell, I'll even help you find a place to hide out. But I'd rather the town marshal didn't find you here. Christ, I'd be out of a job before you could say
jackrabbit.
"

"Take it easy,” Lucas said. “I'm not wanted by the law, and I didn't kill Silas Scott."

Brandt looked up from tugging on his boots. “You didn't?"

"No, I didn't. Jesus, why does everybody think I murdered the bastard?"

"Forgive me,” Brandt said in a sarcastic tone, his body relaxing visibly. “You've only been saying you were going to kill the guy for the past five years. I don't know where I would have gotten the idea that you actually intended to do it."

Lucas flinched, feeling properly reprimanded. “You're right. I apologize."

"So if you didn't kill him, what are you doing back here?"

"I guess you could say I came to my senses."

Brandt snorted. “That'd be a first."

Lucas shot him a quelling glance. “I had him, Brandt. I had my gun pointed right at his chest."

The room fell silent. Brandt's fingers dropped away from the boot he'd been tugging on. “So what happened?” he asked.

"I don't know. God help me, I wanted to kill him. My finger was on the trigger, ready to blow the bastard to kingdom come. Then I thought of Megan and how vengeance wouldn't keep me warm on a cold night. By the time I shook off that damn niggling sense of doubt, Scott was gone. Oh, I followed him, but I didn't get very far. My heart just wasn't in it anymore. When I stopped and took a good look around me—at the deserted trail, the trees,
the dark sky—I
realized that wasn't where I wanted to be. I wanted to be back here, with Megan in my arms."

He shook off his bout of nostalgia. He'd made the decision to come back for Megan, and he wasn't the least bit sorry. He just wished he could know that somewhere down the road, Silas Scott would get what was coming to him.

"So what do you say? Are you going to lend me the money to buy a ring or not?"

"Do I have a choice?” Brandt asked.

"Not really."

Brandt opened a drawer and reached inside for his billfold. With it came a silky black stocking and a red satin garter. Lucas began to roar with laughter. Brandt cleared his throat and stuffed the feminine items back in the drawer.

"Didn't know I'd taken those with me,” he explained. And then a devilish light entered his eyes. “Guess I'll have to track the lady down and return them."

He handed Lucas several folded bills. “So what are you going to do after you buy the ring, if she's still mad at you?"

Lucas shrugged. “I'll just have to show her how much I love her."

"How are you going to manage that?” he asked.
“By proving her innocence."

"Haven't you got anything nicer than these?” Lucas asked the mercantile proprietor. The rings in the black velvet case were fine, just not what he had in mind for Megan.

"Got another box,” the older gentleman said. “They're mighty expensive, though. Don't sell many of those ‘round here."

"Let me see them."

He opened the case to see a dozen gems sparkling back at him. A large, square-cut emerald caught his eye immediately. He lifted it from its velvet cushion and held it to the light. Leaf-shaped etchings curled around the gold band like a trellis of climbing ivy. The green of the emerald would set off Megan's hair and skin coloring perfectly, he thought.

"I'll take this one,” he said.

"That one's
gonna
cost
ya
,” the slope-shouldered man warned.

Lucas ignored him. “This is the one I want,” he said. Only the best would be good enough for his wife.

Ha! They weren't even married yet, and already he thought of her as his wife. More importantly, though, he thought of her as his. And she was.
Forever.
Even if she hadn't quite figured that out yet.

He paid the proprietor, refusing his offer to wrap the ring. Instead, he slipped it into the breast pocket of his leather vest. With a little pat over his heart, he headed back to the jailhouse.

Outside the telegraph office, a freckled boy of about ten stepped in front of him.
“Paper, mister?
Hot off the presses."

Lucas hesitated.

"C'mon, mister.
It's only a nickel."

"All right,” he said, smiling. He reached into his trouser pocket for a coin. “Here you go."

The boy handed him a newspaper and continued on his way.

Lucas unfolded the pages, deciding to glance through them on his way back to the marshal's office.

But the first bold headline stopped him in his tracks.

LEAVENWORTH
WOMAN JAILED FOR SUSPICION OF RECENT PAYROLL ROBBERIES.

"Son of a bitch!” he swore, reading on.

Megan Adams, owner of the Adams Express Stagecoach Line, sits in a Leavenworth jail cell at the time of this printing. With the encouragement of a Union Pacific Railroad representative, local marshal Isaiah Thompson has taken Miss Adams into custody for conspiring to steal railroad payrolls being transported by her stage company from Kansas City to Atchison,
Kansas
.

Lucas didn't bother reading the rest. It took all his willpower not to march over to the newspaper office, find the louse
who
wrote the article, and punch him into a spiral of unconsciousness. He stomped to the jailhouse, slamming the door closed behind him.

"Have you seen this?” he asked, throwing the paper down on the marshal's desk.

Marshal Thompson read in silence for several seconds.

Caleb and Megan appeared from the row of cells. “What's going on out here?” her brother asked.

"Christ!” Thompson swore, passing the paper to Caleb.

Lucas grabbed Megan's hand, hauling her back to her cell. “Gather up your things. I'm getting you out of here."

"What?” she balked. “Lucas, what's going on?"

"They know you're here."

"Who?"

"Everybody,” Caleb answered, handing her the newspaper. “How the hell did they find out? I thought we were trying to keep it a secret."

"We were.” The marshal joined them. “I swore Travis to secrecy; we didn't tell anyone. I've even been letting the regular drunks and such go this week so they wouldn't see her in here."

Lucas started throwing Megan's belongings into the middle of the gray blanket covering the cot, tying them up into a knapsack of sorts. “I'm not going to let her become some sideshow freak for this town. I'm getting her out of here.” He straightened and faced Thompson. “Is that going to be a problem?"

"If it was, you'd both be locked in that cell right now.” He moved away from the door, giving them room to pass. “Go out the back so no one will see you. You got a horse?"

"Worthy's out back,” he said, more to Megan than the others. He took her hand, pulling her past Caleb and the marshal. “Come on."

"Wait a minute,” she said, refusing to budge. “If you think I'm guilty, why are you going to such pains to protect my reputation?"

One corner of his mouth curved. “No wife of mine is going to be an ex-convict,” he said. Then he kissed the tip of her nose. “Now move."

"Hey,” Caleb called out. “Where are you taking her?"

"I haven't quite figured that out yet."

"How about the Express office?”
Megan offered, ignoring his comment about marriage.

Three sets of disbelieving male eyes drilled into her. “Isn't that a bit obvious?” Lucas asked.

"Not really,” she answered. “If I had stolen those payrolls, it would be stupid of me to return to the
Express
, right? Well, that's exactly what everyone else will think, too.” The men still looked skeptical, so she continued. “There's a room above the office. I use it to store old schedules and files and spare parts for the coaches. I doubt anyone even realizes the room is there, let alone would think of it as a place for me to hide."

"She's got a point,” Caleb said. “If anyone starts to close in, we can persuade them to look in another direction. Or at least get word to you so you'll have a chance to get out of there."

Lucas shifted his weight to his other foot. “You really think it'll work?"

A silent moment passed. And then Caleb said, “I think it will."

Myriad voices and heavy footsteps on the wood sidewalk outside distracted them. The rest of the town had obviously just gotten wind of the newspaper article.

"Shit!” Lucas swore, pushing Megan out the back door. He hefted her onto Worthy's back and climbed up behind her. “We'll ride out around town,” he told Caleb. Marshal Thompson had stayed inside to fend off the approaching crowd. “When it looks safe, we'll come at the Express from behind."

"You need to unlock the door from the inside,” Megan told her brother.

Caleb nodded. “Be careful,” he said as Lucas kicked his mount into a gallop and sped off toward the edge of town.

"What's wrong?” Lucas tossed the stub of his cigarette away from the boulder where he stood. They'd been watching for more than three hours, watching and waiting no more than a mile outside of town.

"What makes you think anything's wrong?” Megan asked
,
discarding the stem of a bright-pink wildflower she'd plucked all the petals from.

He lowered himself to the ground beside her. “You haven't said a word since we left town."

"What-makes-you-think-anything-is-wrong,” she said again, counting off each word on her fingers.
“Seven words.
See? I said something."

"Megan.” He gave her a look meant to intimidate.

She jumped to her feet, dusting off the back of her calico skirt.
“All right.
You want to know what's
wrong?
I'll tell you. I'm tired of being treated like a criminal. It's one thing to sit in jail waiting for some high-class lawyer to come and convince everyone you're innocent, but it's another when people suddenly don't care whether you are or not. Whoever wrote that newspaper article didn't care about the truth. He never came to the jail to see if I was actually there. He never sat down with the marshal to get the whole story. He only cared about writing a story that would sell papers.

"As a result, the people who read that article won't care about the truth, either. They'll only want to see me behind bars so they'll have something to titter about behind their hands. Why, I'm probably the best topic of gossip they've had for months.

"And don't even think about trying to placate me,” she said when he opened his mouth to speak. “You're worse than all of them put together."

"Me?"

"Yes, you.
You walked into that jail cell last night all puffed up about telling me you loved me, but you still think I'm guilty. You've always thought I was the one responsible for the robberies."

"That's not—"

"It is true! And even if it weren't, you'd still have turned me in.
Because Brandt Donovan asked you to.”
She settled tight fists on her hips and began to pace. “God help him if I find out he was the one who gave that story to the reporter. I'll split him open like ripe fruit and rip out his heart."

"Megan."

"Then I'll cook it up and feed it to him for dinner.” She did an about-face and paced back.

"Megan."

"Or maybe I'll have him drawn and quartered. Yes, that sounds promising."

"Megan."

She stopped in midstride. “
What?
"

"If you didn't plan those robberies, why haven't you tried to refute the charge and prove your innocence?"

Her eyes widened. “Maybe it has something to do with the fact that you kidnapped me and wouldn't let me out of your sight for two weeks. And then you threw me in jail—oh, I'm sorry, I mean you had
Brandt
throw me in jail. When, exactly, was I supposed to find time to gather evidence in my defense?"

Lucas ignored her sarcasm. “You really think you can find proof that you're innocent?” he asked, pretending he hadn't already made the decision to try to find evidence that pointed to someone else setting up the robberies.

"I don't know. But it wouldn't hurt to look."

"Where?"

"What?"

"Where would you look? Where do you think you could find evidence to clear your name?"

"I don't know that, either. The only place I can think of is the Express office. That's where all the paperwork is—schedules, payroll transport records, every piece of correspondence I've ever gotten from the railroad. If there's anything that would prove my innocence, I guess that's where I'd find it."

"Well, then,” he said with a smile. “Things are working out better than I expected."

Megan frowned. “What does that mean?"

"It means it's a good thing we'll be hiding out at the Express for a while. That'll make it easier to search the place without being discovered."

She simply snorted and gave him a look to let him know she thought he'd lost his mind.

The sun was just beginning to set as Lucas and Megan crept up to the Adams Express building and plastered
themselves
to the rear wall. Through the thin wood they heard voices, one decidedly Caleb's. They strained to make out the words.

"—else, sir?"

"No, that will be all, Hector, thank you."

Feet shuffled. “You sure I can't do that for you, Mr. Adams?"

Caleb paused. “No. I'm going to stay just a little longer to work on the books."

"You shouldn't bother with that,” Hector continued. “I don't mind taking care of it for you."

The legs of a chair scraped across the floor, followed by heavy, receding footsteps. “I don't mind,” Caleb said firmly. The bell on the front door jingled. “Have a nice evening, Hector. See you in the morning."

The building fell into silence. Then they heard the slight rustle of blinds being drawn. Caleb's steps grew louder until the back door swung open.

"Get in here,” he whispered harshly.

Lucas pushed Megan ahead of him, taking one last look around before ducking into the darkened room himself.

"Is that damn Hector always so hard to get rid of?” Caleb asked bluntly.

"He was just trying to help,” Megan answered.

They stumbled through the clutter of the back room, which was used mostly for storage, and up a flight of stairs. Caleb carried a lantern at his
side,
keeping the wick low for fear someone would notice the light from outside.

The room above the office left a lot to be desired. It looked as if it hadn't been used—or cleaned—since the Adams Express had opened twenty years before. Their passage left footprints on the dirt-covered floor, and the dust in the air made them cough.

"Quite a little housekeeper you are, Meg,” Caleb commented.

She punched her brother's arm. “I never saw you up here with a broom when you worked with Papa."

"It's your business now, remember? I seem to recall your making several threats against my wife and family if I ever interfered."

"That's right. And I suggest you remember those threats before you say anything else about the condition of this place."

"It is a mess, Megan,” Lucas put in.

Caleb tried to quiet a chuckle.

"Oh, shut up,” she told them both. “It isn't so bad.” She crossed to an old iron cot in one corner, plopping down on the mattress. A cloud of dust floated up around her. Both men stared at her as if to say “I told you so” while she coughed and sputtered and turned blue in the face.

"You should be safe up here,” Caleb said. “You can probably even get away with walking around at night as long as you keep the lantern low. It'll be harder during the day. You'll have to be careful not to make a sound. These walls are as thin as paper. If you so much as sneeze, anyone who happens to be downstairs will know you're here."

"I'll have to make sure Megan doesn't fall asleep, then. No offense, but your sister snores like a runaway train."

"So does Rebecca. Don't worry, you'll get used to it in twenty or thirty years."

"I doubt it."

"Excuse me,” Megan said, clearing her scratchy throat. “I am in the room, you know."

"How could we forget?” Lucas asked rhetorically. “You've been hacking like a mule with pneumonia for the past ten minutes."

She raised one eyebrow. “Oh, you'll pay for that one."

Even in the dark of the room, they stared one another down.

Caleb chuckled. “I can see you two will get along fine up here.
Alone.
Completely isolated.”
He handed the lantern to Lucas. “Good night."

Silence followed him down the steps and out the front door.

"So what are we going to do all night in this dark room?"

Lucas smiled wickedly. “I can think of a few things."

"Ha!” Megan scoffed. “You're fooling yourself if you think I'm going to let you touch me after that remark about my snoring."

"You'd melt in a second if I so much as kissed you."

"Is that what you think?"

"It's what I know,” he challenged.

She stretched out on the cot, feigning a yawn. “If I weren't so tired, I just might make the effort to prove you wrong."

"I guess that means you aren't interested in going downstairs to search for something that might clear your name."

She sat up, fairly leaping off the bed. “Of course I am. Let's go."

"All right,” he said. “But first, there's one thing..."

"What?"

He wrapped an arm around her waist, leaning in for a kiss. His lips suckled as his tongue darted inside, twisting and dancing with hers. She moaned. Her knees bent, and she went slack in his arms.