A Promise of Roses
Read A Promise of Roses Online
Authors: Heidi Betts
Tags: #Fiction, #Romance, #Western, #Historical, #General, #Action & Adventure
"YOU'RE A REAL BASTARD,
LUCAS
McCAIN
," MEGAN SPAT
AT HER CAPTOR.
"It's about time you figured that out," he replied.
Megan launched into a string of curses, all of them cut short by Lucas's hand over her mouth. She bit down hard making him yelp and release her.
"That ought to teach you not to touch me."
She smiled, proud of her triumph.
But with lightning speed Lucas grabbed her and backed her up against the wall.
He towered over her, his body pressing into hers, sending shivers down her spine. But suddenly she no longer wished to escape.
"I want you," Lucas growled. "Do you understand what I'm saying? I want to take you to bed."
Megan hid her smile. This big, strong bounty hunter talked too much. Why didn't he just shut up and kiss her?
A LEISURE BOOK®
July 2000 Published by
Dorchester Publishing Co., Inc.
If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as "unsold and destroyed" to the publisher and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this "stripped book."
Copyright © 2000 by Heidi Betts
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law.
ISBN 0-8439-4738-1
The name "Leisure Books" and the stylized "L" with design are trademarks of Dorchester Publishing Co., Inc.
Printed in the United States of America.
To Wendy Williams—
Who lent me her mother's romance novels, even when my mother didn't want me reading
them.
Who got me interested in writing romances in high school and lit the flame under my butt years later to get me to actually finish the
stoiy
I had begun.
Who sat up nights helping me plot this and other stories and didn't mind if I called at midnight (or later) with "another one of my brilliant ideas."
Here's
to
many years together-, and a hope for many more.
And to Helen Brown, who always keeps me well supplied with reading material. Without you, waiting rooms and stop lights might actually be boring.
Cubilo
The Devil's Lair
Leavenworth
,
Lucas McCain tossed back his sixth shot of whiskey, surely the cheapest rotgut on earth. But what more could he expect from this hole-in-the-wall that passed for a saloon in a town half the size of a deer tick?
Especially one that catered to the dregs of society, men who were running from one thing or another and didn't want to be found.
Lucas raised his eyes to stare at the four men occupying a corner table. Shouts of laughter came from the group, and Lucas cursed his streak of bad luck.
If he had left this one-horse town a week ago as he'd planned, he wouldn't be facing this dilemma. If Brandt Donovan hadn't saved his miserable hide on more than one occasion, he might have been able to shrug off the man's request. But Brandt was his best friend—had been for more years than Lucas could count. That was the only
reason Lucas hadn't torn Brandt's letter to shreds. The only reason he was even contemplating this asinine stunt.
Except that it wasn't asinine, and Lucas knew it. Brandt knew it, too, or he never would have asked the favor in the first place. So now Lucas had to face the cold fact that he couldn't go on as he had been. This last year of tracking Silas Scott had drained him of every penny he had to his name. He had hardly enough coin to pay for the drink in his hand.
Whether Lucas liked it or not, he would have to take Brandt up on his offer. But surely there was some way of making money better and quicker than taking a secret-investigation job for the Union Pacific Railroad. God knew they had employees of their own who could handle the assignment, Brandt being one of them.
But, damn it all, the fates were working against Lucas. He hadn't gotten out of town soon enough, and the gang of outlaws Brandt wanted him to track down had stumbled right into his path. It was too good an opportunity to pass up.
All the old instincts of his bounty-hunting days surfaced, priming his brain like a thousand tiny pinpricks. For the first time in a long time, Lucas felt his blood flow hot. The exhilaration of the chase, of infiltrating this band of robbers, burned beneath his skin.
Lucas blinked several times, clearing his eyes of an alcohol-induced haze. He still had it. He could still drink enough hard liquor to fill the Gulf of Mexico without dulling his senses. It amazed him how quickly he could once again become the predator, stalking its prey.
He ran a hand through his hair, surprised to find that it fell well past its usual length. As soon as he finished this assignment, he would have to get it cut. He stood and ambled toward the four men.
He would do as Brandt asked so he could collect his pay. And then he would get back to searching for Silas Scott.
The bastard who had slaughtered his family.
"I
ain't
gonna
do it, Miss Megan. I just
ain't
."
"Hector, for God's sake, the outlaws won't try to rob you today."
"You don't know that, ma'am, and I'd just as soon not find out."
Megan Adams gritted her teeth and tightened her hands into fists at her sides. Three of her five stagecoach drivers had already quit because of that blasted gang of outlaws. The Adams Express was at serious risk of going under, and if Hector didn't take this run, the customers were bound to bad-mouth her business right into the ground.
"I'll give you all of next week off."
"No, ma'am."
"I'll make sure both you and Zeke have weapons."
"No, ma'am."
"I'll double your pay."
"No, ma'am."
"Blast it, Hector, you know how bad things have gotten lately. I'm not asking you to walk through fire. I'm just asking you to drive the damn stagecoach."
"No, ma'am,” he said with a shake of his dirty brown hair.
“Nope.
I
ain't
doin
’ it no matter what you say."
"If you don't take this run, you're fired."
"Aw, come on, Meg. You fired me twice last week, and I'm still here.
That threat just don't
wash no more."
Megan tapped her foot in agitation, wondering if an ass full of buckshot would change his tune. She doubted it.
"I'm asking one last time, Hector.
Begging you.
Please take this run."
Hector shuffled his feet uncomfortably, keeping his gaze on the floor. “I'm sorry, Miss Adams, but I can't. I'd be more than happy to keep an eye on the office for you, though."
"Fine.”
She plucked her Stetson off the desk behind her, slapping it against her thigh. “But don't expect your usual pay for sitting around selling tickets,” she said as she stormed out the door.
She tugged her worn hat down over the pile of curls atop her head, pulled a pair of leather gloves from the waistband of her tan trousers, and went to the door of the Concord waiting just outside the depot.
“Sorry for the delay, folks.
You'll be on your way in a minute or two. If it gets too dusty for you, let the window covers fall shut.” Giving the passengers a smile, she made her way around the team of horses at the front of the stage.
Megan climbed onto the tall vehicle and took hold of the reins. “Looks like I'll be keeping you company today, Zeke."
"That young upstart giving you trouble again, Miss Megan?"
She smiled at the graying, potbellied man for his intuitiveness. “Nothing I can't handle, Zeke,” she said, patting the six-shooter strapped to her right thigh.
Megan motioned to the shotgun lying flat across Zeke's lap. “You keep that thing cocked and loaded, just in case."
"Always do,” Zeke said with a grin.
Megan took a deep breath to stiffen her resolve, slapped the reins, and set the stage in motion. She had lied to Hector when she assured him the outlaws wouldn't attack today. In truth, there was a good possibility that they would. She was carrying a strongbox full of railroad payroll, after all.
She cursed under her breath. But how the hell did they find out? It seemed that every time her stage was carrying one, they took great pleasure in relieving her of it. Worse, she was the only person who knew precisely when the payrolls were being transported. Her stage picked up the boxes at the Kansas City station, then delivered them to the Union Pacific offices in Atchison. She kept all the information confidential, the paperwork under lock and key. So how the hell did they find out?
The stage took a sharp turn around a high, smooth expanse of rock face.
A perfect place for outlaws to lie in wait, unseen.
"We got trouble,” Zeke said, lifting his shotgun.
Megan didn't have to turn her head. She could see riders approaching them from all directions, clearly aiming to surround the Concord. Slapping the reins, she drove the horses faster, hoping to outrun the men closing in on her.
"It's no use, Miss Megan,” Zeke called over the noise of the rattling stage. “I've been through this before. They'll catch us no matter what you do.” He got off a shot, but the riders were moving so fast, his bullet was bound to miss its mark.
Megan didn't say anything but urged the team to ever more dangerous speeds. The outlaws raced beside and behind the stage. One reached out and tried to halt the horses, to no avail. Then a shot rang out, and the lead mare dropped to the ground, pummeled and dragged by the other animals until they had no choice but to stop.
As she tugged on the reins to slow the heavy vehicle, Megan yelled for the passengers to stay inside the coach no matter what. She couldn't stop the bandits from halting her
stage,
she might not even be able to keep them from taking the railroad payroll, but for damn sure she wasn't going to let them hurt her customers.
"Nice to see you again, mister.”
The man who spoke to Zeke seemed to be the leader. His mount pranced nervously at the scent of blood from the lead mare. “Mind throwing down your weapon?"
Zeke did as he asked without argument.
"You killed my horse, you bastards!” Tired of letting the bandits have the upper hand, Megan reached for her gun. But before she could aim it at any particular target, the pistol flew from her grasp, and a sharp, stinging vibration ran through her fingers.
Damned if one of the bastards hadn't shot the gun right out of her hand! She raised her eyes and glared with icy disdain at the bandit guilty of disarming her. A thin trail of smoke floated up from the barrel of his Colt revolver.
"Must be a new driver,” the leader called out. “He thought he could get the drop on us. Nice shot, Luke."
The man named Luke remained silent. Even with a brown bandanna hiding the lower part of his face, Megan could see cold disinterest in his blue eyes. He leaned forward in the saddle, an arm lazily draped across the pommel. It seemed to annoy him that he'd even had to remove the Peacemaker from its holster.
Megan stared at him long and hard, memorizing every detail from his pale eyebrows to his scuffed boots. She might not be able to identify all the members of the outlaw band, but she was going to make damn certain she could pick this particular man out of a crowd.
"Throw down the strongbox,” the leader commanded.
"Over my dead body,” Megan spat.
The leader shrugged. “Don't like to hurt anybody if I can help it, but since you seem so determined, I'd be happy to oblige.” He raised his gun and aimed it at Megan's heart.
"Just throw down the damn box!” the man named Luke called out.
His voice sounded tense, and Megan wondered why he should care whether she was killed or not. She stood and pushed Zeke across the seat and out of harm's way. With a clearer view of the leader, she put her hands on her hips and lifted her chin a notch. “Over my dead body,” she said again.
"Christ, this one's a real pain in the ass.” The leader cocked the hammer of his pistol and pulled the trigger.
Megan held her breath and waited for the searing pain to rip through her body. After a second, she realized the bullet hadn't hit her. He had only shot her hat off.
Lucas cursed under his breath when the shot rang out. He thought for sure Evan planned to kill the boy, or at least make him wish he were dead.
"Son of a bitch!” another member of the gang yelled. “He's a woman!"
When a veil of midnight-black hair fell around the driver's shoulders. Lucas lost his train of thought. The hot July sun brought out streaks of auburn in the waist-length mass, and its owner's brown eyes shone with angry defiance. Damn it, the chit had more brass than brains. Didn't she know better than to hassle a gang of gunmen?
Obviously not.
The woman grabbed her Stetson from the shotgun rider's lap and shoved it back on her head. She turned to Evan and straightened her spine, once again ready to do battle.
"Frank,” Evan said, “take care of her, will you?"
"Right,
Ev
.” Frank swung a lasso above his head and tossed it around the girl's slight frame, quickly tightening the rope so that her arms were pinned to her sides. Dismounting lazily, he climbed aboard the Concord and plucked her from the stage, dangling her in the crook of his arm. With his free hand, he loosened her gun belt and let it fall to the ground.
"Let me down, you son of a bitch! I'll see you all hanged for this, I swear to God."
Frank simply got back on his horse, redistributing her weight on his arm.
Hanging upside down, she continued ranting. Lucas couldn't contain a chuckle at her colorful language.
"Okay, old man,” Evan said. “We'll take that money off your hands, and you and the passengers can go about your business.
Dougie
, unhitch that dead horse so these people can be on their way."
Zeke didn't move as one of the bandits climbed up behind him and dragged the heavy black strongbox from the stage. When they all began moving away from the Concord, he cleared his throat and asked, “What about Miss Megan?"
"Well, seeing how Miss Megan here gave us so much trouble, I think we'll be taking her with us for now.” Without giving the man time to argue, Evan raised his gun and fired several shots into the air, spurring the horses forward and causing Zeke to struggle with the reins to regain control of the team.
"Tommy, you take the money. Frank, keep a tight grip on that little gal. Everything taken care of?” he asked, looking around the area of their latest robbery. When no one said anything, he continued. “Good enough. Let's go."
They started out at a brisk pace but soon had to slow due to the weight of the strongbox and the struggles of one Miss Megan Adams.
Maybe his luck wasn't so bad after all, Lucas thought, allowing a smile to spread behind the cover of his bandanna. So this spitfire was Megan Adams. Imagine that.
In his letter, Brandt had been adamant that the Union Pacific Railroad suspected the Adams Express proprietress of being involved in the robberies. Not just involved, Lucas amended, but likely the ring leader. As me head of railroad security, Brandt was damn sure Megan Adams was feeding information to the bandits, telling them when and where it would be easiest to rob the stages of the payrolls being transported to the railroad office in Atchison. The problem was, since she'd seen his face before, Brandt could hardly infiltrate the gang for proof of Adam's complicity.
Lucas had thought he would have to gain information from the outlaws first and then go after Megan Adams, but as fate would have it, she'd fallen right into his lap. Yes, this assignment was coming along better than he'd hoped.
Why, though, had Megan been driving the stage? It was odd enough for a female to be running her own business.
Lucas looked at the woman slung over the front of Frank's saddle. They were less than half a mile from the band's hideout, and it seemed that she'd quit fighting. So perhaps there had been a reason for her to drive the stage today.
He shook his head.
Of course.
That hellfire-and-damnation rant had all been an act, contrived to convince everyone that Megan was being taken against her will, when in reality she had planned to meet up with her cohorts.
Any other time, Lucas would have considered the idea far-fetched. But Brandt had sounded quite certain that Megan Adams was involved with the robberies. And why else would she have driven the stage? Why else would Evan decide to take Megan when he had, by his own admission, never before taken a hostage? Besides, if Brandt believed Miss Adams guilty, that was enough for Lucas. The sooner he wrapped this up, the better. He had more important things to do than save a few bucks for the bigwigs who owned the railroad.
It was bad enough that he'd been saddled with this pack of bandits. He'd never seen such empty-headed idiots before. They used their real names in front of their victims, only covered their faces when they remembered to, and had accepted him as a new member of their gang much too quickly for his peace of mind. The only one who had a lick of sense was Frank, and he was down-right intimidating. Frank was mean enough and tough enough to get out of any situation—his many scars attested to that.
Single file, the horses threaded through a thick patch of trees and undergrowth until a small, slanted shanty came into view. The men dismounted, tethered their mounts, and went inside. Lantern light made the place seem livable, but it also illuminated the dirt and grime that covered the plank floor.
Megan walked into the shack on her own, guided only by Frank's hand pressing into her back. She looked around, wondering how six people—five rather large men and one fair-to-middling woman—
were
supposed to be comfortable in such a tiny space.
"This is nice,” she said sarcastically.
"We like it,” Evan replied.
The men still wore their bandannas over their noses and mouths. Megan noticed and
commented,
half hoping they would opt to keep them on so she wouldn't have to see their faces. She didn't have much hope that they would be easy to look at.