Hostage Heart (16 page)

“Go on, Shanks, give me a reason to draw on you. Any reason…” Matt taunted softly. “I want to make this all real legal. That’s the last time you’ll touch Lark or draw against one of her ranch hands.”

Lark continued to press the towel against Paco’s shoulder, her throat aching with tension, aware that Paco was going into shock and needed help badly. The Mexican groaned loudly.

Shanks used the unexpected distraction to his advantage. His palm slapped against the pearl handle of his gun.

With a curse, and before Shanks could get the weapon out of the holster, Matt struck him hard in the jaw. The gunslinger slammed into the fabric bin. The satisfying sound of teeth breaking beneath his fist made Matt feel slightly better. He heard Lark cry out his name but ignored her, limping over to where Shanks lay dazed on the floor.

“Get up,” he snarled, jerking Shanks to his feet.

Lark hovered over Paco, her hand pressed against her mouth. As Matt dragged Shanks upward, she saw the gunslinger pull a knife from his belt.

“Matt!” she screamed.

In a flash he caught Shanks’s right wrist and squeezed the thin blade from his clawlike fingers. Shanks let out a shriek of pain as his wrist was bent back. He fell to his knees, and Matt pressed his weight down into the gunslinger. His breath came in ragged gasps.

“You’ve gone too far this time, Shanks. The sheriff will catch up with you. No one shoots a man without provocation and gets away with it. Get the hell out of here before I decide to put my gun to your filthy head.” He shoved Shanks away, watching the gunslinger leap to his feet.

Lark turned back to Paco as Shanks left the store. The Mexican was pale and still. She pressed her hand against his neck. There was still a faint pulse. Shaken, she didn’t realize Matt had knelt opposite her until she looked up.

“How is he?”

“I—I think the bleeding’s stopped.”

Matt pushed the hat off his wrinkled brow. “Good. Here comes the doc.”

The doctor, an older man than Abe Harris, placed his black bag down beside the foreman and rapidly examined him. “Abe, I’m going to need help,” he said. “This man’s got to be taken over to my office.”

Lark stood with her back against the wall, feeling numb and exhausted. She stared mutely as Matt and Abe carried Paco out the door. Silence settled around her. She looked down at the puddle of blood, and a chill ran through her. With another towel she tried to blot it up. Millie peeked out of the back storeroom and promptly swooned. Lark managed to get her to a chair and found some smelling salts, which she held under the woman’s nose.

Assured that Millie would survive the shocking event, Lark ignored the large crowd of curious onlookers who had gathered in the doorway and pressed to get through them. Finally she broke clear and, picking up her skirt, ran across the dusty street. Gasping, she bounded up the wooden walkway and entered the doctor’s office.

Matt turned. “Lark?”

She closed the door and leaned heavily against it, out of breath. “Is he going to live?”

“I don’t know. Doc Friar’s got him under ether right now to take out the bullet.” He took her arm. “Come on, sit down. You look like you’re going to faint.”

Just the touch of his hand brought all her feelings to the surface. Valiantly she fought the deluge of emotions. “I—I’m all right. Really…”

“I know you are,” Matt soothed, watching her closely. “You were very brave in a very bad situation.”

Lark couldn’t force herself to sit down. She craved his closeness, his protection. She searched his dark gray eyes. “Matt?”

“Yes?”

“Hold me? Just for a little while. If you—”

With a groan he swept his arms around her, crushing her against him. A sob escaped Lark and he held her tighter, caressing her black, silky hair. “It’s all right, my golden cougar. Everything’s going to be fine.”

Cameron rose from his desk as Shanks shuffled into his office. “What the hell happened to you?”

He sat down, holding his swelling jaw. “Goddammit, boss, don’t holler at me. I gotta get to Doc Friar. That bastard Kincaid busted up my teeth.”

Cameron sat back down, his mouth thinning. “I thought I told you to go over there and chase that breed out of town.”

Shanks flashed him an irritated look. “Ya forgot to mention he was a hired gun, not just another drover, goddammit.”

Cameron pretended indifference. “Oh? Kincaid said something about being her ranch manager. How could I know? He did that to you, didn’t he?”

“I’m in a lotta pain!”

Snorting violently, Cameron gestured savagely toward the door. “Get the hell out of here. I don’t need no snot-nose dribbling blood all over my new carpet. Now get going!”

Shanks rose slowly. If he didn’t like the money Cameron paid him so much, he wouldn’t take this shit from the bastard. “Look, that bastard’s meaner than a rattler that’s been riled. That breed bitch done got her a tough
hombre
. I’ll get him, I just gotta have time!”

Giving Shanks a withering stare, Cameron muttered, “All right. Get your ass back over here when the doc’s fixed that mouth of yours. And make it fast.”

As Shanks jerked open the office door, he saw Sheriff Cole walking down the carpeted hall. Cole came to a stop and poked his head inside Cameron’s door. “Gotta take Shanks in, Jud.”

Cameron scowled. “For god sakes, why? What the hell’s going on?”

“He shot Paco Hernandez in broad daylight and there are witnesses. That Mex foreman of the breed’s is over at the doc’s office right now getting patched up.” Cole lifted his hand toward the gunslinger. “Let’s go.”

Cursing roundly, Cameron leaped to his feet, his eyes blazing. “You shot a greaser in broad daylight?”

Shanks winced. “He got in the way of me pushin’ the breed around.”

“You stupid louse!” He turned to Cole. “Put him in jail for now. I’ll fix things to spring this idiot after the breed and that gun leave.”

“But, boss, my jaw. I gotta get over to Doc Friar.”

Cameron clenched his teeth. The urge to strike Shanks was very strong, but he didn’t want to get blood on his good clothes or bruise his knuckles. “Cole, get this silly bastard out of my office and out of my sight! Now! He can damned well cool his heels over in the jail for a couple of days.”

Glaring at Cameron, Shanks tenderly held his aching jaw. “Aw, boss—”

“Sit in jail and think about what you’ve done, Shanks,” Cameron snarled, stalking across the office to confront the gunslinger. He jabbed his finger into Shanks’s chest. “The people of Prescott won’t put up with flagrant disregard of the law. The only reason I get away with some things is because we do things quietly and behind the scenes. You’ve disobeyed my orders. Shooting a man in broad daylight is the stupidest thing you’ve ever done. Cole, get him out of here before I puke. And then get back over here. Morgan’s due any time now. We’ve got some planning to do.”

Cole nodded. “Yes, sir.”

Cameron sat for a long time in silence after Shanks and Cole left. Sonofabitch! Lark Gallagher knew she had him by the balls. And who was that drifter? He’d never seen his face before. He clenched his manicured fingers, the nails biting deep into his palms. He hadn’t expected the breed to hire a gun, he’d expected her to run. Dammit!

Cameron paced his office, thinking long and hard. Sheriff Cole returned with Colonel Parker Morgan. Good, the northern end of the Tucson Indian Ring was convened. Cameron sat down behind his desk, steepled his fingers, and looked gravely at each man.

“I’ve got trouble,” he began heavily. “Originally, I thought that with Roarke Gallagher out of the way, I could get his ranch and water rights real easy. I was wrong. That breed daughter of his has hired a gunman by the name of Kincaid.”

“Matt Kincaid,” Cole clarified.

Cameron’s black brows rose. “How do you know?”

“The gent was over in my office earlier filing charges against Bo and pressuring the hell out of me about Gallagher’s death. He questioned that report you had me file on it.”

Cameron ran a finger around his tight collar. “Is Kincaid wanted for any crimes?”

“Nope,” Cole answered. “Not as far as I can tell.”

Parker Morgan shifted, frowning. “Is he a government agent, do you think? You know, with all our activity between Prescott and Tucson last year, I was afraid they’d send some undercover agents in to investigate.”

“Parker,” Cameron warned, “stop running like a scared coyote. This Kincaid isn’t a damned agent. I told you before, Ga’n’s been doing our dirty laundry. The Apaches are gettin’ blamed for everything. No one suspects we’re behind it.”

“I don’t know, Jud,” Cole countered, twisting one end of his handlebar mustache in thought. “That Kincaid fella’s smart. He ain’t no ordinary cowpoke. The man uses his words well.”

“I know one thing,” Cameron added bitterly, “he sure as hell caught me red-handed trying to cheat the breed out of a mortgage payment.”

“I say he’s an agent,” Morgan reiterated. “I warned the southern branch of the Ring that there were too many raids being pulled down there by whites posing as Apaches. The ranchers and homesteaders are up in arms. They’re writing to the federal government for help.”

Cameron rolled his eyes, shutting out the rest of Morgan’s litany. If he didn’t need some help inside the U.S. Army, he’d have gotten rid of the pompous, aging Morgan a long time ago.

“I wonder if that bastard Captain Frank Herter has anything to do with this,” Morgan muttered aloud. “He’s real sweet on that breed.”

Cameron considered the possibility. “Herter’s due to retire shortly, isn’t he?”

“Yes, and none too soon. I don’t like him looking over my shoulder. The last time I sent my patrol in the opposite direction from where we knew Ga’n was going to attack some settlers, Herter asked questions. He’s been making a lot of noise about my tactics and strategy during the last four months. The captain smells something, I know he does.”

“He’ll be out soon,” Cameron soothed. “And once he retires and becomes a civilian, he’ll be harmless to your command. Relax.”

Dan Cole hitched a boot up on one of the office chairs, frowning. “Let’s get back to this Kincaid fella. If yore gonna try and get the water rights, he’ll be in the way.”

“He’ll be one man against all our forces,” Cameron said. “Once I get the Gallagher land, the Ring’s power here in the north will increase considerably. I don’t think Saunders, who owns the Circle S Ranch down near Tucson, is going to protest my decision. Nor will Colonel Williams, commander of Fort Apache. They want to see us strengthen our position here in Prescott. Bringing down Lark Gallagher will be a good way to do it.”

Morgan nodded reluctantly. “I think it’s time we contacted Ga’n again. Let him take care of the breed for us.”

Cole snorted. “You know that red devil ain’t gonna touch the Gallagher Ranch. He respected the breed’s father, and she’s half Apache. No way will Ga’n do anything to hurt her or the ranch.”

“We’ll see,” Cameron snapped. “Once Bo is found innocent of plugging that greaser, I want him to ride to Ga’n’s hideout and tell the renegade I want to meet him at our usual spot near the cliffs.” He rubbed his hands together. “If anyone can persuade him to get Lark Gallagher, I can.”

Cole nodded. “Word’s out that the breed and her gunslinger are stayin’ here in Prescott overnight.”

Cameron shrugged, then smiled. “Maybe I can reconnoiter over at the hotel and find out more about this Kincaid fella. The more we know about him, the better. And while I’m at it, I’ll give the breed my final offer for the water rights to her ranch. She needs the money too badly to say no.”

Lark had never before taken a hot bath in a copper tub. At the ranch, she always washed in the cold mountain stream behind the house or swam in one of the shallow lakes during the summer. Now, as she languished in the tub in the middle of the afternoon, the hot water miraculously dissolved the soreness from her back and shoulders.

Matt had taken care of everything, she thought drowsily, resting her head against the rim. Where had he gotten the money to pay for two rooms at the hotel? And later he was going to take her out to eat.

Worriedly, Lark forced open her eyes. Matt had given a young boy over at the livery stable fifty cents to ride out to the ranch and tell Maria, Paco’s wife, of his injury. A sigh escaped her lips. Paco was going to be all right, the doctor had assured her. The bullet had been removed and the Mexican was resting comfortably over at the office. But he couldn’t be moved for at least two days, so they’d have to stay in Prescott until he was better.

Restless, Lark sat up and scrubbed herself clean with the French milled soap. She inhaled the lavender scent, finding it delightful. Her hair was next. Afterward, feeling exhausted by the day’s turn of events, she wrapped a thick towel around her body and lay down in the big bed, falling immediately into a much-needed sleep.

Matt knocked softly on Lark’s hotel room door. He waited patiently. No one answered. He frowned. Shifting his parcel to the other arm, he knocked more firmly. It was nearly six o’clock and Lark had said she wouldn’t leave her room. Why wasn’t she answering? A tremor of fear ran through him.

He couldn’t wait any longer. He twisted the knob. The door opened, yet he’d instructed Lark to lock it. Heart pounding heavily in his chest, he pushed the door wide and scanned the silent room, missing nothing. He released his held breath and stepped inside, quietly closing the door behind him, remaining motionless until his heart slowed down.

Matt gazed at Lark’s sleeping form. A towel covered her from her breasts to halfway down her long, firm thighs. He shouldn’t be here, staring at her. He should get the hell out before she discovered his presence.

Taking careful steps, he quietly placed the large parcel on the dresser. Lark stirred and he froze until he was sure she was still asleep. He’d never forget the feel of the thick, clean strands of her hair between his fingers when he’d held her earlier over at the doctor’s office.

Closing the door, Matt left the room, shaken in a way he couldn’t explain.

Lark awoke an hour later. She fumbled to light the kerosene lamps in the cozy room. Still groggy, she noticed the large parcel on the dresser. How did it get here? Heat settled in her cheeks. Matt must have come into the room and left it while she slept.

She brought the package to the bed and carefully unwrapped it. Her drowsiness vanished as she stared down at a carefully folded dress. Tentatively, as if half afraid to touch it, she ran her fingers across the soft golden material.

Matt had known she would be too embarrassed to dine in the hotel’s public dining room wearing the violet dress that had been stained with Paco’s blood. Stroking the soft material, knowing that it wasn’t the cotton she was used to wearing, Lark eagerly slipped into the ivory chemise and numerous petticoats that had also been provided.

She fumbled with the violet ribbon, trying to arrange her hair as Maria had done so deftly earlier. In the flickering lamplight she stared at herself in the mirror. The boat neck of the gold dress was edged with dainty lace, displaying her prominent collarbones and emphasizing her slender neck. Lark felt embarrassed by the low cut of the gown, but she loved the white lace that edged each sleeve at the wrist. Lace also ran in rows down the front of the dress and the waist was tied with a gold velvet ribbon. Slowly she ran her fingers down the dress, glorying in the rich texture of the fabric and the rustle of the full skirt. She felt beautiful.

As she walked down the carpeted hall to the wide staircase that led to the lobby, Lark’s heart began to pound in earnest. Would Matt be waiting for her in the dining room?

There were a number of people in the lobby, mostly men but also a few well-dressed women. Lark couldn’t ignore the looks of interest on their faces. She felt a tap on the shoulder and turned around. An elegantly dressed man with a young woman on his arm smiled down at her. He tipped his hat to Lark.

“Excuse me, Miss Gallagher. My name is Cyrus McDonald. This is my wife, Melinda. We knew your father, Roarke Gallagher. We heard about the awful tragedy concerning him, and we just wanted to say how sorry we are that it happened.”

Stunned, Lark could only stare at the couple. Their eyes were filled with genuine regret.

Melinda McDonald reached out her gloved hand, briefly touching Lark’s arm. “Father Mulcahy told us what happened last Sunday at church. We’ve been meaning to drive out and see you, to pay our respects to your father, Lark. Perhaps this coming Saturday? The ladies from the church want to bring you some clothing that was being collected for the families that live on your ranch. Roarke had told us the children could use them. May we come to call on you?”

Overwhelmed, Lark barely nodded. “I—well, yes…”

Melinda smiled warmly and patted Lark’s arm again. “Wonderful. We’ll come calling this Saturday then.”

It took Lark several moments to recover from the unexpected encounter. They were whites, but they had been sincerely sorry for her father’s death. Shaken, Lark sought out the desk clerk and asked where the dining room was located. The clerk smiled and gave her directions.

The wine-colored drapes fringed in silver that hung in the arched entrance to the dining room fascinated Lark. The hotel was lavish compared to the spareness of her ranch. She hesitated in the doorway. Heat fled up her neck and face as a few patrons turned to look at her.

Relief flowed through Lark as she saw Matt rise from a corner table and make his way through the crowded room. His gray gaze was warm with welcome and with…what? She tilted her head, trying to decipher the smoldering flame in his eyes that made her go hot and shaky.

“Lark?” Matt held his hand out.

She placed her fingers in it. “Why are those men staring at me?” she whispered as he came to her side.

He smiled gently, cupping her elbow. “Because you’re the most beautiful woman they’ve ever seen.”

And she was, he realized. The dark gold of the dress accentuated her clean, classic features. Her black hair shone in the lamplight, an ebony cape against her back and shoulders. Her skin glowed. He led her toward their table. She was fidgety and nervous, her eyes dark and darting, like those of a trapped animal.