Dorothy Garlock - [Wyoming Frontier] (24 page)

Down the street at the Anaconda Hotel, Justin Rowe stood in the large oriel window built out from the wall and resting on a bracket. From this point he could see up and down the main street of Virginia City. His pale blue eyes were drawn to Rowe’s tall, lanky frame for he was a man who stood out in a crowd. As Justin watched, Rowe paused to let a carriage pass, then quickly crossed the street.

“Helga,” Justin said sharply. “Come here.” The woman jumped off the chair and hurried to the window. “Isn’t that Garrick?”

“Where?”

“There! Going up the steps to the walk in front of the newspaper.”

“Why, yes, I believe it is. Although I’ve never seen him in clothes like that.”

“What did you expect, a cutaway coat and striped trousers?” he sneered.

Helga backed away from the window and took her place once again on the straight-backed chair. Justin had been in a strange mood for the past day and a half. It had something to do with the letter he had taken from Garrick’s bureau during the brief few minutes they had been in his room. They had no more than set their bags on the floor and removed their hats when the manager had knocked on the door and ordered them out. The room, he had said, was rented by the month to a Mr. Garrick Rowe. He was sorry for the inconvenience, but the new clerk had made a mistake because of the name.

Justin had already seen the mail on the bureau addressed to Garrick and had slipped a letter into his pocket before he opened the door to admit the manager. He had put up a fuss, but in the end they had gone across to the Anaconda Hotel and were given one of the last rooms available.

Last evening and today he had stood or sat by the window looking down on the street. He didn’t talk or complain about the shabbiness of the room. He didn’t even berate her when it took so long for her to bring him a tray of food. Helga didn’t know what to make of it. She had thought she knew all of her husband’s moods. Justin acted almost as if his self-confidence had been wiped out of him. Impossible, she reasoned. Justin Rowe was the most arrogant, confident person she had ever known. But something had given him a jolt. Helga had no hope that he would share it with her. He never did.

Helga took advantage of the quiet time to think about her son at home. She missed him so desperately and was so fearful of the training he was receiving at the hands of the nurse Justin had hired. He was being taught that he was so superior to the children of the servants he played with that if he wanted them to lie down and be walked on, they should do so.

To leave Ian had been one of the hardest things Helga had ever had to do. She hoped and prayed that Justin would hurry and do whatever it was he had come here for so they could go home.

The sight of his half brother had set the demons of hatred working again in Justin. The black bastard! Even in buckskin pants and rough shirt, he walked with his head high as if he were a king instead of the half-caste son of a bitch that he was. Papa, he asked silently as he had done a million or more times, how could you have married that near-black woman from a foreign shore?

Justin thought about the contents of the letter in his pocket. The gods had been on his side, letting the fool clerk give them the key to Garrick’s room, letting the letter lie there in plain sight, and giving him time to slip it into his pocket before the manager arrived. No one would ever know the contents of that letter except himself and the man who wrote it. He would settle with that Pinkerton detective after he had dealt with Garrick. As far as Justin knew, his half brother had never married. If Garrick died, he would be the next of kin and would inherit the fortune that was rightfully his but for the dark, Greek bitch Preston Rowe had married on that fateful trip to Paris. He would have to be very careful. There must be no connection between him and Garrick’s demise; and
that
would take some planning.

Justin looked across the room at his wife sitting so placidly in the chair, her hands folded in her lap. She was the picture of womanhood with her blond hair, blue eyes, and milk white skin. They had produced a son of their superior race. A blond, blue-eyed boy to carry their bloodline into the next generation. What further need did he have of Helga now, except to bury himself between her soft thighs when he had excited himself to the degree that his manhood demanded release. It was getting harder and harder for him to reach that point. The last time he had whipped her bare white ass until it bled, and he hadn’t even experienced a weak erection.

His thoughts switched to his mother. The goddamn stupid bitch! If he could get his hands on her at this moment, he was quite certain that he would wring her neck. His hand sought the envelope in his pocket, reassuring himself that it was still there.

“We’re leaving tomorrow or the next day,” Justin said suddenly.

“Oh, Justin. I’m so glad.” Helga lifted her bowed head and smiled. “I’m so anxious to get home and see Ian.”

“Goddammit, Helga. You’re as dumb as a gourd. I didn’t say we were going home. We’re not going home until I’ve done what I came out here to do. See if you can get that into that stupid head of yours.” He turned back to the window. “Get downstairs and get me something to eat. I’m going out after a while, but you’re not to stir from this room. Understand?”

Katy unlocked the door and opened it when Rowe knocked. She had a small pouch purse looped over her arm. He stood in the doorway for a moment and looked at her, then came inside, closed the door, and leaned his back against it. He had been shaved. His hair, free of trail dust, was as black and shiny as a crow’s wing.

“Pretty.” As he spoke she heard the key turn in the lock. “And all set to run out on me.”

“There’s nothing in our agreement that says I must take my meals with you. Open the door and let me out.”

“Not on your sweet life. There are more drunks down on the street than you’ve seen in a lifetime. You’re not leaving here without me.” Holding the door key between his teeth, he went to the armoire and took out a pair of dark cord britches and a soft white shirt.

“I’m not staying in here while you . . . strip!”

“How are you going to get out? Through the window? You’ll need a ladder.” He yanked his shirt out of his britches, pulled it off over his head, and tossed it onto the floor beside the bathtub. “Did you have a good bath? I’d rather have taken mine here with you, but the woman at the barbershop did a good job scrubbing my back.” He whipped the belt from the waist of his trousers and began to unbutton his fly.

Katy spun around and went to the window, her face flaming. “Don’t you have any refinement? You’re the crudest man I ever met.”

“Then you’ve not met many men. That suits me just fine. Greek men are possessive of their women.”

“I’m not your
woman
! I’m not a horse or a dog to be
owned
by a man,” she said heatedly.

“No, honey, you are certainly not a horse or a dog. You’re a soft, pretty, sweet woman and I’m mighty glad of it. I don’t know why you’re so embarrassed about being in the same room with me when I take off my clothes. There’s a beautiful race of people in the South Sea Islands who don’t bother with clothes at all.”

“Savages!”

“We’ll soon know everything there is to know about each other, Nightrose.” His britches flew across the room and landed on the floor at her feet. “I’ll know how deep your belly hole is, and you’ll discover I’ve got a brown birthmark on the inside of my thigh right up close to my—”

“Shut up!”

Katy’s hands gripped the thick, velvet draperies. She stood there, stiff with indignation, and listened to him whistle a tune through his teeth as he dressed. Finally, he moved up behind her and placed his hands over hers.

“I can’t resist teasing you, Katy. You’re as pretty as a speckled pup when you get your dander up.” With his hands on her shoulders, he turned her around so he could see her face. “Cheer up, honey. We’ll have a good supper, then we’ll walk up and down the street and see the sights.”

“And that’s supposed to thrill me to death?”

He ignored her sarcasm. “Tomorrow is a big day. There’s going to be a boxing match and your friend’s husband, Pack Gallagher, will referee it. Did you know that he was the bare-knuckle champion of a few years back? I don't know him, but I’ve seen him fight. He’s trying to promote fighting with padded gloves. He says there are less injuries to the fighters.”

“It’s barbaric for two men to stand toe-to-toe and strike each other!”

“This is an exhibition match. The fighters will wear gloves and I’ll just bet there’ll be ladies present.”

“Well, I won’t be there. And I doubt that Mara Shannon will either, if she’s here.”

“There’ll be footraces,” he said in his low persuasive voice, “and sack races, and contests to catch a greased pig and climb a greased flagpole. Wouldn’t you like to see the mud fight between the girls from the Bucket of Blood Saloon? The winner will receive ten silver dollars, and she’ll be allowed to keep all her take of the upstairs money for a week.”

“Why, that’s disgraceful!” she said staunchly, but there was a twinkle in her eyes. “Ever since women earned the right to vote they’ve been trying to do everything men do. Voting and using your brain is one thing; making a spectacle of yourself is another.”

“I agree. Perfect.”

“Perfect?”

“You.”

“Now cut that out! I came here to learn something about how to run the stage office.”

“Tomorrow we’ll celebrate, the next day we’ll work. And tonight I’m going to show you the sights.”

Fifteen

From the doorway of the dining room, Katy’s eyes swept over the elegantly dressed diners and almost groaned. In her wrinkled cotton dress she felt terribly shabby and out of place. She glanced up to see Rowe smiling down at her, a challenge in his dark eyes as if he were waiting to see if she was going to turn and run. Pride stiffened her backbone, lifted her chin, and gave her courage a needed boost. The calm, placid expression on her face masked her wrenching embarrassment as she walked into the room as if she were the best-dressed woman there.

“Nightrose, darling, you’re priceless. There isn’t a woman in this town half as beautiful as you,” Rowe murmured as he seated her at a small table beside a round column painted with a climbing vine.

“Flowery words don’t change a thing,” she replied when he was seated opposite her. “I’m aware, as you are, that everyone is gawking at us because I look as if I had slept in my clothes for a week.”

“At least they know we were not sleeping together,” he said softly. “For you would have been sleeping in nothing at all.” His eyes laughed at her.

Katy’s face reddened and she tried to be angry. The words coming from another man would have been insulting, but her lips twitched and she had to hold back a bubble of laughter. A small flutter of gratitude jerked at her heart as she suddenly realized he was a very considerate man. Rowe was the only man in the dining room without a coat. He had dressed in keeping with the dress she wore.

A woman in a dark dress, white starched apron and cap came to the table. She had a large, sturdy frame, rosy cheeks, and eyes only for Rowe.

“Oh, Mr. Rowe, you’ve come back.”

“Ah, yes.” He rubbed his chin and grinned at her.

“You cut off your beard!”

“My . . . ah . . . lady friend likes to see my face.”

“So do I.”

Rowe watched Katy as she rolled her eyes toward the ceiling with a bored expression on her face.

“According to the posted bill of fare they’re serving river trout or roast beef and creamed potatoes. Which do you want, sweetheart?”

Katy could feel the woman’s eyes, curious yet resentful, glaring down on her, but she refused to look up. Instead she gave Rowe one of her warmest smiles.

“The roast beef,
darlin
’.”

“Two roast beef plates, and afterward we’ll each have a dish of ice cream.”

“Are you trying to break the poor girl’s heart?” Katy asked as soon as the serving woman hurried away.

“Why do you say that?”

“She looked at you as if she could eat you.”

“She’s friendly, that’s all. I was here for a month before I came to Trinity.”

“And apparently became well acquainted with the hotel staff.”

“I learned a long time ago that being pleasant instead of unkind to those who serve me will get me a lot better service.”

“Being pleasant to this employee need not include paying for her supper. I pay my own way. I want to make myself clear on that point.”

“And I’ll make this clear. You’re not my employee . . . yet. Tonight and tomorrow you’re my guest. Don’t mention it again or I’ll be forced to take drastic action.”

“Being pleasant does not extend to . . . guests?”

“Where you’re concerned, Nightrose, I make and break the rules as the occasion demands.” He raked his scorching eyes over each feature of her face, then laughed, a deep, masculine laugh. “Give up, sweetheart. You won’t be able to hold out against me. I’m determined to make you mine.”

“You’re setting yourself up for a disappointment, Mr. Rowe.”

“I think not, Miss Burns.”

“You make me so . . . damn mad!” she whispered. “You know I’ll not make a scene here!”

“I know no such thing. That’s what makes being with you so exciting. You’re my soul mate, Nightrose. A hundred years from now we’ll meet again. We’ll fight, make up, love each other to distraction, and fight again.”

The twinkle in his eyes both infuriated and frightened her. Her heart gave a sickening leap. The big jackass knew that she was attracted to him! She felt as if the licorice black eyes beneath the thick, straight brows were reading her innermost thoughts, attacking the barrier she had erected to protect herself against his magnetism.

“I don’t believe in your stupid theory of reincarnation.”

“Shhh . . . here comes our meal. You can fuss at me later.”

The meal was delicious. Despite Katy’s unease when they first entered the dining room, despite Rowe’s teasing words, she relaxed and enjoyed it. While they were eating, he told her about his plans for Trinity.