Hostage Heart (28 page)

“No.”

Lark rested a hand on Matt’s thigh and held his weary gaze. “Promise?” she asked softly.

Leaning over, he kissed her lips, tasting the salt of her sweat and the sweetness of her mouth. “I promise,” he whispered. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

Lark waited impatiently at the river, hiding in the brush, feeling vulnerable because of the clothes she wore. Several buckboards and wagons passed nearby loaded with goods bound for Tucson. A small herd of cattle pushed past with three drovers in tow. Keeping her hand over Four Wind’s nose so she couldn’t whicker in greeting to the passing horses, Lark stayed well hidden in the grove. Holos was at its zenith before she spotted Matt returning, a large bundle under his arm.

Dismounting, his face glistening with sweat from the ride, he offered Lark the package. Ignoring it, she threw her arms around his neck. “I was so afraid you wouldn’t come back.”

Caught off guard, Matt took a step or two backward. He laughed softly and wrapped one arm around Lark, squeezing tightly. “A promise is a promise,” he muttered, kissing her offered lips longingly. She tasted warm and willing, and Matt groaned.

Trembling in the aftermath of their powerful kiss, Lark smiled shyly as she eased from his arms. “I was afraid you had been shot…or killed. So many terrible thoughts ran through my head….”

He understood. “I also had a terrible feeling that someone had discovered you here and shot you,” he admitted, handing her the package.

Her eyes widened. “You did?”

“Love makes you worry more than necessary,” he confessed, grinning slightly. “Come on, open up this parcel. I want to know what you think of the dress.”

Lark knelt in the shade, Matt crouched opposite her. Her hands trembling, she eased off the string and pushed aside the paper. There, beneath her stilled hands, lay a maroon wraparound skirt and a tight-fitting basque, or jacket, of the same color. The jacket was edged with lustrous shell buttons from the high lace collar to the braid-trimmed hem. A pink ribbon ran the length of the skirt, and shell buttons were sewn down the center of it.

Reverently Lark ran her fingers over the sleek, smooth fabric, awed by its beauty and simplicity.

“Like it?” Matt could see the pleasure dancing in her eyes as she lifted her chin. He smiled and picked up a long pink grosgrain ribbon. “This is for your hair. As I recall, you like to wear them.”

Lark accepted the ribbon. “Everything is so beautiful….”

“There’s more,” he said, motioning for her to remove the skirt. “The seamstress said no fashionable young lady would be caught without the proper number of petticoats and a chemise.”

Lark examined the lace work on the ivory-colored chemise and fingered the soft cotton material of the three petticoats before setting them aside. “I have to clean up, first. I can’t wear these beautiful clothes feeling gritty.”

Matt nodded. “Go ahead. I’ll keep watch.”

“On who?” she baited.

“None of your business, young lady. Now go on, we’ve got a room reserved for us at the Star Hotel.”

Excitement replaced Lark’s previous dread. The Santa Cruz River was much larger and deeper than the Agua Fria had been. She waded out into knee-deep water and quickly washed. Matt sat on the bank, chewing a piece of grass, watching her beneath half-closed eyes. Instead of feeling embarrassed by his undivided attention, Lark gloried beneath his glittering gray gaze.

“Do you think Shanks and Ga’n are in Tucson yet?” she called.

“I don’t think so. After we get our room, I’ll check each livery stable.”

Lark picked her way daintily to shore, and Matt handed her a towel. “I want to go with you.” She wriggled into the chemise and carefully fastened each of the twenty buttons.

“No.”

She frowned, pulling on the three layers of petticoats. Why did women wear such inhibiting material? Already she was perspiring from so many clothes. “Why not?” she asked. “Do you think for one minute, that I’ll be content pacing that room, wondering if they’ve found you or not?”

Matt watched as she fastened the skirt around her slim waist. She certainly didn’t need the corset the seamstress had tried to sell him. Her breasts rose high and proud against the chemise, the nipples outlined, as if begging to be touched.

“Yes, I expect you to stay in the room and pace.”

Lark gave him a dark look and slipped on the jacket. Just putting on such an expensive and beautiful article of clothing made her feel feminine. “I won’t.”

Matt rose and began to shed his clothes, dropping them on the blanket. “You will.”

Pouting, Lark stared mutinously up at him. Her pulse bounded as he shrugged out of his shirt, his chest looking brazenly male. She wanted to run her fingers through that curly, dark hair but stopped herself.

Reading the desire in her eyes, Matt smiled. “You can touch me if you want to.”

She colored prettily as he stood naked before her. Her gaze dropped circumspectly to his manhood, which stood hard and ready. Her unsettled, molten sensations grew into an ache deep within her. “If I do, I might not stop,” she admitted, her voice strained.

He caressed her flaming cheek. “Tonight I’m going to love you….” he promised thickly, then left her side and waded into the river.

Lark’s knees grew weak as wave after wave of heat flowed through her. Trying to shake the magical euphoria, she brushed her hair and tied it with the ribbon. Since she had no mirror, she went upstream a few yards to a quiet pool of water and knelt on the grass. The reflection that stared back at her was of a different person—a woman fulfilled, happy. Had love transformed her to such a degree? Lark wondered in awe. The face staring back at her was soft, beckoning, not defensive or scowling as she had once been.

“You look ravishing,” Matt called to her, stepping out of the river, flinging drops of water off his arms.

Lark picked up her skirts and walked back to where he was getting dressed. “I look…” She struggled to find the words. “Different.”

Matt hungrily drank in her vulnerable, upturned face. “Yes,” he answered softly, “you’re a woman now, Lark. No longer a little girl.”

She touched her cheek, aware of its inordinate warmth. “I never realized love could change me so much.”

“Do you like what you’re becoming?”

“Becoming? You mean, there’s more?”

“Much, much more,” he answered, pulling her into his arms.

Tucson was much like Prescott in some ways, Lark thought, as they rode down the hard-packed dirt of the main street. It was just bigger. She saw many more saloons, dance halls and mining supply stores, all filled with soiled doves, miners and drovers.

This was silver country, Matt had informed her. Indeed, there were so many canvas tents and wooden shanties that Lark lost count. This was a mining boom town. To the southeast, in Cochise County, was Tombstone, another silver center. Lark had heard many colorful stories of Tombstone and the gunslingers who inhabited it.

The Star Hotel was located near the center of the bustling city. Matt dismounted and helped Lark off her mustang, since she had had to suffer the indignity of riding sidesaddle. She straightened her skirt and slipped her hand around his proffered arm. The clatter of wagons passing, the cries of children playing tag along the wooden walk, and the bark of dogs filled the afternoon air. Lark was able to spot at least three livery stables. Was Kentucky in one of them?

The clerk behind the registration desk was a small, stooped man with spectacles perched on the end of his thin nose. He bobbed his head and smiled.

“Ah, this is your young bride, Mr. Butler.”

Butler?
Lark felt Matt give her elbow a warning squeeze. Of course, she realized, they wouldn’t register under their real names; that would be folly.

“Yes, this is Mrs. Matt Butler. Darling, this is Mr. Samuel Peekins.”

Lark smiled shyly. “How do you do, Mr. Peekins.”

“A pleasure, ma’am, a pleasure. You were right, Mr. Butler. Your bride is, indeed, beautiful.” He turned the register book so that Matt could sign it with a fountain pen. “And how long will you be staying?”

“I want to give my bride some time to rest up from our long journey, Mr. Peekins. We’ll probably be here two, perhaps three, days at the most.”

“Fine and dandy. Pay for two nights now and if you’re staying a third, you can pay that morning.” Peekins smiled, revealing a nearly toothless mouth beneath his white mustache.

Lark paused hesitantly, not sure of what to say or do. In Prescott, she’d seen women curtsy to men. They lifted their skirts with both hands and bobbed up and down like a blue heron dipping for fish in a pond. Did Mr. Peekins expect her to do that too? It looked so silly.

She was relieved when Matt paid for the two nights and took her by the elbow, guiding her down the red-carpeted hallway to a wide staircase. The Star Hotel was garishly decorated. Relatively quiet and clean, it was too expensive for the partying drovers or miners and catered to a more refined clientele. Lark would be safe here, Matt hoped. Upstairs, he stopped at Room 22 and opened the door for her.

Lark entered. Pink lace curtains framed double windows. A large feather bed with brass head and footboards dominated the room. There was also a cherry dresser with a vase of fresh summer flowers on top. Compared to the spareness of the Gallagher Ranch, this room was opulent.

“It’s beautiful,” she breathed, turning around, admiring all the expensive appointments. A huge floor mirror stood in one corner. Lark walked over to it, getting the first, full impact of herself in the dress.

Matt walked up behind her, watching various expressions flit across her face. He placed his hands on her shoulders, and drew her back against him. “You like it, eh?”

“Yes.” Lark stared at herself. The maroon-and-pink outfit enhanced her blue eyes and black hair. She looked up at Matt. “This dress makes me look so—”

“Beautiful. And you are. Stay here, I’m going to get our gear.”

She whirled around as he left her side. “Are you going to the livery stables?”

“I will a little later.” Matt saw the fear in her eyes and tried to alleviate it. “First things first. After I get the gear up here, I’ll take our horses to the livery.” He left, closing the door quietly behind him.

Lark stood in the middle of the room, clasping her hands. What if Matt ran into Shanks or Ga’n? She doubted that Ga’n would show his face in a
pindah
community, but he might stay outside the town with the stallion while Shanks made contact with whomever he was supposed to meet.

When Matt returned, placing their riding gear in one corner, he startled Lark out of her deep thought. He came over and kissed her cheek.

“I’ll take the horses down to the livery now. Then I’ll go over to the telegraph office and send a telegram to Frank Herter. I want him to know where we are and what’s going on.”

She saw the wisdom of Matt’s idea. “And then?”

“Then I’ll make the rounds of the liveries. After that, I intend to take you to an early dinner.”

“But what if you see Shanks?”

“If I
see Shanks or Ga’n, I’m not going to call them out on the street for a gunfight, honey. Our first order of business is to find Kentucky. After I know he’s safe, then I’ll try to track down each man individually.”

“What about the sheriff here in Tucson? Can’t you ask for his help?”

Matt hesitated. “What if he’s part of the Ring? We can’t be sure he isn’t. If I went to the sheriff for help, Lark, I could find a slug in my back. No, it’s too risky.”

Everything was risky. “Why can’t I help look in the liveries?”

“Because I love you and I don’t want you in danger, that’s why.” Matt saw Lark’s jaw tighten and braced himself.

“And what if Shanks or Ga’n finds you first?” she asked. “I’ll be here, sitting in a hotel room when I could be helping you!”

“You can’t go around carrying that bowie knife on you, Lark,” he teased gently. “Don’t you think it would look out of place with the dress you’re wearing?” Before she could reply, he added more seriously, “I know they’re not here yet. I’m just taking the precaution. Don’t worry, I’ll be back very soon.” He kissed her hard, then turned, closing the door quietly behind him.

Lark stood for a moment, fuming. She glared at the white door decorated with gold paint and stamped her foot, muttering one of the few Apache curses she knew.

Going to the windows, Lark pushed aside the filmy curtains. Below her was the main street of Tucson, crisscrossed with evening shadows. She saw Matt walk down the opposite side of the street and disappear into the nearest livery stable with their horses. Ten minutes later, he reappeared. To her chagrin, he then went into the Glass Slipper Saloon next door. So he was going to check more thoroughly than he had told her!

Fearing for Matt’s safety, Lark sought a way to help him. An idea sparked and fanned to life. Turning, she flung open the door and hurried down the hall, looking for one of the uniformed bellboys.

Shanks chose the Jenkins Livery, located at the north end of Tucson, to stable the sorrel stallion. Ordering Ga’n to hide in the mesquite along the hill behind the livery, he led the stud into the building. A young boy of ten came out of the stall he’d been cleaning, his eyes lighting when he saw the magnificent stallion.

“Yes, sir?”

“Need a couple of stalls, boy,” Shanks told him, dismounting.

“Yes, sir! That’s a right nice horse you have, mister.” The lad patted Kentucky’s dust-coated hide.

“Keep yore hands off him, boy. He’s mean and he bites. Which stall can I put him in?”

Quickly stepping back, the lad said, “The name’s Jethro, mister, and you can bring your horse back here. This ought to hold him.”

Shanks made sure the stall was well built. The damned red stud had been nothing but trouble since he’d stolen him. There had been times when he’d wanted to lay a thick leather strap to the beast’s hide, but the new owner, Robert McCray, would probably lay one to him if he did. Shanks threw the kid a nickel.

“I’ll be back with this other horse around midnight. In the meantime, water that red devil and give him grain a good two hours afterward.”

Jethro bobbed his sandy-colored head. “Yes, sir.”

“If you need me, I’ll be at the Glass Slipper Saloon.”

“Yes, sir!”

Lark settled the wide-brimmed black hat on her head and regarded herself critically in the mirror. She’d gathered her hair up into a knot and fit it inside the crown of the cowboy hat. Thanks to an innocent bellboy who had loaned her a set of men’s clothes, her disguise was complete. She made sure that the black trousers fit over her
kabun
boots so that no one could identify her as Apache. The green cotton shirt hung loosely on her slight frame, but it adequately hid her curves. The leather sheath that held her bowie knife was belted around her slender waist. She looked like a young boy.