Wild Is the Night (44 page)

This man didn’t deserve to live. He should die, not her. He was after another woman now, this Fess Tyson she’d heard him talk about. For a second, Honey experienced pleasure that it was another woman that frightened Sam so much, another woman who’d actually published something about him that could see him hanged. Fess Tyson, whoever that was, wasn’t afraid. And Fess Tyson wouldn’t take her own life.

Rising from the bed, Honey put the gun in her pocket and then walked toward the door. She reached for the doorknob and turned the shiny brass fixture. As she suspected, it was locked. Her strength long since gone, she contemplated the objects in the room, then her smile widened as she saw Sam’s walking stick.

Using it as a knocker, she pounded on the door. At first, there was no response, then gradually, she heard foot steps in the hall.

“Yes, I am coming…”

“Please,” Honey forced herself to call out. “I have locked myself in the room. Isn’t that silly? Could you open the door, please?”

The bellboy, young and inexperienced, did not hesitate. He took a skeleton key from his pocket, then fitted it inside the lock of room number seven. The door sprung open and an emaciated woman burst forth like a corpse released from a grave.

“Please, you’ve got to help me,” Honey breathed, trying not to pass out. She gave the boy a quavery smile that lurched into more of a grimace. “I need to get outside.”

“Aren’t you the lady who sang for us?” the boy asked shyly.

Honey nodded quickly. “Yes. Will you help me?”

“Sure.” The young boy took her arm, amazed at how fragile she seemed. Up close, Honey looked more like a starved fledgling than a lovely songbird. Her wrist was as thin as the spoke of a wagon wheel, but she was still beautiful. Stunned, the boy wrapped his fingers protectively over hers and took her across the street.

Honey sighed, the gun banging against her thigh. Perhaps the God she prayed to for so long was finally listening.

Luke waited until Amanda had left town before returning to the hotel. Fury engulfed him, coupled by a pain he never thought he’d ever feel because of her.

Damn her! And damn that book!
Luke had drunk a full pint of whiskey just that morning, and even that couldn’t drown the emotions that raged inside of him. How the hell could she do such a thing?

He winced as he thought of the other men chuckling behind his back, though none of them dared make a remark. One look at his gunman’s stance and the weapon in his belt prevented that. Yet he knew what they were thinking, and to tell the truth, he didn’t blame them.

It was Amanda who had done all this. Amanda, whom he’d let crawl inside of his skin, become a part of him, who then betrayed his innermost thoughts and feelings for all the world to see. It was ironic that he, who should value things like a reputation and respect, should find himself the target of scorn because of his wife.

He wanted to kill her. Yet he also missed her with an intensity that he never would have guessed. He glanced around his immaculate hotel room, and found no owl droppings, no scrawled copies of the latest scientific theories, no open books in every room, enticing the eye with thoughts and dreams that no one but Amanda could share. It was infuriating, but at the same time revealing. He still loved her, in spite of himself.

But he wasn’t able to get past the rage he felt. Tossing his hat down in disgust, he turned around and headed back to the lobby, passing a young bellboy and a lovely woman who looked vaguely familiar. Pausing on the step, Luke watched them hurry outside.

Something nagged at the back of his mind, something important, but he was too preoccupied to make sense of it all.

Chapter
  
27
  

The house was quiet when Amanda finally came downstairs, carrying Aesop in his cage. The little owl became very active at night, and although sometimes his nocturnal movements were annoying, this evening they provided comfort. Amanda sat the cage beside her in the parlor and smiled at the sight of the tray Pedro had left for her.

She lifted one of the silver dish covers, her stomach revolting at the sight of food. She was too distraught to eat, but the servant’s thoughtfulness warmed her. She experienced so little kindness in the last day that even this small gesture touched her.

Aesop rustled uneasily and Amanda opened the cage, allowing the little bird to step out of the gold wires. Fluttering awkwardly, he perched on the mantle nearby, returning her stare, communicating the way he always had.

“Aesop, why do I have brains for everything except what’s important?”

The owl blinked, reassuring her, but even Aesop’s unqualified friendship didn’t help much tonight. Amanda felt drained, tired and lonely, and the ache inside of her couldn’t be easily appeased.

The curtain fluttered, and the shutter banged against the house.
That’s odd,
she thought, rising to fasten it closed.
Pedro always checks the windows and doors, especially before his day off.
Shrugging, she reached outside through the light film of lace, then stifled a scream as a hand clamped over her mouth.

“That’s right, we don’t want any shoutin’. You are alone anyway, aren’t you darlin’?”

The Irish brogue meant nothing to her, nor did the appearance of the man as he dragged her back into the parlor. Amanda saw his dark, handsome looks, his polished white shirt, his winning smile. But his eyes frightened her more than even the gun he openly displayed. They were blank, soulless, without warmth, feeling, or emotion. They were the eyes of a goat, and it was horrifying to see them in a man.

“You don’t know me, darlin’, but I know you. You’re a writer—Fess Tyson they tell me, I remember you from a long time ago, when I shot that fool Haines. Too bad you took it in your head to write all about it and get the damned thing printed.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about—” Amanda started.

“I think you do,” he continued, smiling pleasantly. “I sent my men after you, but you managed to stay one step ahead of them. Nearly got you on the prairie, then that damned stampede killed one of them. You didn’t think I would just give up, did you?”

Haskwell.
Amanda’s eyes widened and she stared in helpless terror at the man who had hunted her for so long. He was exactly as she would have pictured him, and that only made the whole thing worse. Her eyes closed and she felt the baby’s light movements inside of her. If only she hadn’t upset Luke, if only he was there, and she wasn’t alone….

“There now, I can see that you do remember. You’re a talented lady, Miss Tyson. Too bad I have to kill you. But I really don’t have any choice, now do I? With what you know, you could see me hanged. It must have tickled you to know this all these years, and to know that I couldn’t rest until we came to this. Sounds like something I would do.”

“You’re wrong,” Amanda whispered, regaining her voice. “I never saw any gunfight. I write them from here.” She pointed to her head.

Haskwell grinned. “Sure you do, darlin’. Sure you do. Now you can go ahead and scream your head off. No one will hear you. The cowhands are long since bedded down, and that Mex servant of yours left you alone. Even his kid is asleep for the night. Fact, you’re about as helpless as that broken winged bird.”

Haskwell lifted his gun, his one arm still tight around Amanda, and pointed it at Aesop.

Her scream died when the gun went off, and a solitary feather drifted down to the floor.

Luke stared at the door, wondering why the sight of that woman kept bothering him. He’d seen her somewhere before. His mind retraced her glossy black hair, her tremulous smile, her voice, light and pretty as she talked to the bellboy….

Her voice. It was the woman who’d sung for them at the hotel just last night. Luke hadn’t paid her much attention, he was so involved with Amanda, but he could recall her on that stage, dressed in a flimsy gown and singing with a voice that must have once been wonderful. She had appeared ill, her complexion ashen, and her manner nervous even on stage.

Why was this nagging at him? He went over it again and again. She was the singer and that was the end of it. He’d never seen the woman before in his life, and she didn’t mean anything to him.

Why was he so haunted by her appearance?

Amanda screamed, then stifled her cry with her hands. Aesop lay in a pile of feathers on top of the mantle, his little body barely moving. Painfully, he crept to the corner of the mantle, alive but obviously hurt. Horrified, she glared at the man who held her captive. Hatred began to build inside of her, and she tried to wrench away, earning only slightly more freedom as Haskwell held her tightly.

“Why would you do such a thing? He was just a little owl, he never hurt anyone. How could you—”

“Shut up,” Haskwell snapped, disturbed at her open defiance. “You’re going to join him, darlin’. Don’t you understand that? You made me track you from one end of the West to the other. You need to pay for that.” He grinned.

Amanda suddenly understood him, that this was part of his motivation, the compelling helplessness of his victim. Frantically, she realized she had to think of something and quickly. This man would enjoy killing her. Somehow, she had to change that.

“Please don’t hurt me.” Amanda tried to make her voice sound pleading. “I won’t say anything. I swear.”

“I know you won’t.” Sam grinned, relaxing his hold on her. “You won’t because I’m not going to let you live. I’ve waited a long time for this pleasure, and I’m not denying myself any of it.” He caressed the gun, watching her expression with a smirk of pleasure. “You know, darlin’? There’s one thing that’s been bothering me all this time. Why didn’t you come forth and testify? You had to know I’d be after you either way.”

Amanda moistened her lips, her eyes wide. What was he talking about? She remembered his accusations when he’d first grabbed her—that she had been the woman who’d witnessed his shooting of Haines…suddenly, she knew she’d been right. This Haskwell must have taken it into his head that she had actually seen a murder he committed.

“I…didn’t want to get involved.” Amanda tried to sound terrorized while her mind worked. “I was afraid.”

“Smart,” Haskwell said. “But not smart enough. You should have kept that little secret to yourself instead of publicizin’ it for all the world to see. As it is, you give me no choice.” He cocked the gun.

Amanda closed her eyes. For once, she had run out of ideas. And, it seemed, time.

Showgirl. The word snapped to life in Luke’s mind and it suddenly all came together. Haskwell had a showgirl with him—a woman he’d been dragging from Kansas. And this woman certainly bore all the signs of abuse, from her trembling hands to her sad, sweet voice. And if this was the case, and the woman had escaped, it could only mean one thing.

Haskwell was out alone.

Luke sprang out of the chair, horror suddenly filling him. He’d been so outraged by Amanda’s book that he’d put aside the very real threat of the outlaw. And with him gone, Amanda was like a sitting duck should Haskwell go after her.

His heart pounding, Luke ran out the door, grateful that he’d just cleaned his gun that morning. He had a feeling he was going to need it.

“Now sit down on that sofa there, real quiet like.” Sam grinned as Amanda obeyed, her eyes straying to Aesop. She couldn’t tend to him now, couldn’t let her mind be distracted. She had to think clearly, for if she didn’t, it could easily mean her life.