A Promise of Roses (22 page)

"Don't go anywhere."

Her eyes narrowed, and she growled low in her throat as she stomped out of the room, leaving the door swinging wildly on its hinges. “Bastards,” she swore under her breath.

"What do you think?"

"I want to think she's innocent,” Lucas answered honestly.

"But you don't."

"I don't see how anyone else could get the precise information she's privy to."

"Maybe the rest of the bandits will be able to tell us something."

"Yeah, something to further incriminate her,” he said blackly.

Brandt lowered his eyes. “We'll never know until we question them. They have to be brought in anyway. It's time. We have Miss Adams in custody."

Lucas ran a hand through his uncombed hair.

"Do you want to leave her here and lead me to their hideout?” Brandt asked.

"I don't think that's such a good idea. She's been known to run off,” Lucas admitted.

"What are we going to do with her, then?"

They looked at each other, and Lucas nodded knowingly.

"I don't think she'll like that idea,” Brandt said.

"I
know
she won't like it,” Lucas answered, already starting for the stairs.

"What?!?"

"It's just until we can bring the others in,” Lucas said.

Megan stood inside the kitchen door like a warrior ready for battle. “Are you out of your mind?!"

"You knew this was coming. A week ago you seemed resigned to going to jail and standing trial."

"A week ago I thought I'd be able to come up with a way to escape!"

Lucas almost chuckled at that but thought better of it. Megan looked mad enough to skin him alive. He should have known there was something going on in that over-active mind of hers when she'd started being so complacent on the trail. Now he knew she'd just been buying time while she formulated a plan.

"I'm sorry,” he said, meaning it. “But if I leave you alone in this house, I think mere's a pretty slim chance you'll be here when I get back."

"You're damn right,” she said. “The first chance I get, I'm hell and gone from here."

"
Which is exactly why you'll be safer at the jail.
"

"Oh, now there's logic for you. I'll be much safer sitting in a jail cell waiting for some hangman to drop a noose around my neck than I would be in my own home."

"Megan—"

"No.” She held up a hand to stop him. “God, I can't believe I ever trusted you. And to think I fell into bed with you like some two-bit whore."

"Stop it."

"Don't tell me what to do. Not ever again. You're the one who told me to tell Brandt Donovan I was innocent.
A whole hell of a lot of good that did me.
I might as well have strung myself up from the nearest tree."

"I'm sorry,” he said again. “But this really is for the best."

"Ha! This is just the easiest way to get me out of your hair and off your conscience. If you turn me over to the marshal, at least you can tell yourself you were just doing your job. Well, I don't buy it. I'm innocent, Lucas. And even if no one else on God's green earth ever believes me, I want you to know it's the truth.

"So throw me in jail. Let them accuse me of crimes I didn't commit. But while you're out there tracking down Silas Scott and chasing after the ghost of a wife you're never going to hold again, I hope the knowledge of my innocence eats away at you."

With that said, she slammed out of the kitchen.

Lucas let her go, knowing there was nothing he could say to make any of this easier. Still, he tried to think of something, anything, to help her understand why he and Brandt had made the decision they did. Why she was going to jail.

A second later, Brandt stuck his head through the doorway. “Is it safe?"

"She's gone,” Lucas answered.

"I know. I heard her storm upstairs. But I expected you to be tearing the place apart."

"Why? I'm not the one going to jail,” he said with derision.

"No, but I know you, Lucas. I don't think it sets well that you have to turn the woman you love in to the law."

"I told you before,” he said, fixing Brandt with a glare. “I'm not in love with her."

"When I asked if you were in love with her, you said I knew you better than that,” he pointed out. “And you're right on that count; sometimes I think I know you better than you know yourself. At least I'm smart enough to admit something when it's plainer than the nose on my face. You love her. No matter how far you run with the excuse that you're after Silas Scott, that's not going to change. And don't tell me you can't love Megan Adams because you feel it's your duty to remain faithful to Annie's memory."

Brandt softened his tone. “That's it, isn't it? Your twisted sense of loyalty is the only thing keeping you from telling Megan you love her. Lucas,” he said, touching his friend's arm, “you weren't this loyal to Annie when she was alive. You told me yourself that she'd tricked you into the marriage in the first place. When she told you she was pregnant, you did the right thing by marrying her. I think you're to be commended for not tossing her out in the street when you found out she'd lied. And then, when she did get pregnant, you stayed married to her. You didn't love her, yet you stayed in the marriage because it was your duty."

"It was my baby,” he said.

"I know, but a lot of men wouldn't have stuck around long enough to find that out."

When Lucas didn't respond, Brandt continued. “When are you going to stop blaming yourself for their deaths? You didn't even know Scott had escaped from prison, so how could you have known he'd come after you? And how could you know he'd kill them instead?"

Something inside Lucas snapped. He paid no mind to the stinging behind his eyes as he slammed a fist down on the countertop. “I should have been there. God damn it! She begged me not to go. She begged me not to leave her alone again. But I just couldn't let the chance at a thousand dollars pass me by. It was that much more to invest in the ranch."

He turned away from his friend, trying to get his raging emotions in check. Finally, he forced himself to face Brandt again.

"Do you know what the worst part of it is?” he asked. “Do you?"

"I know how much it hurt to lose Chad."

"Besides that.”
He shook his head, running a hand over his face in agitation. “It's that it didn't hurt enough to lose Annie,” he said bitterly. “Seeing the pain she'd suffered on my behalf—that hurt. Seeing little Chad—” He broke off. “But being without Annie didn't hurt nearly as much as it should have."

Brandt remained silent.

"I thought I'd convinced myself that I hated her for tricking me into marriage. But I didn't. The truth is
,
I understood why she did it. It was the only way she could get away from that bastard of a father of hers. He beat her, and he'd started touching her, and she was scared to death he would come into her room one night and rape her. How in God's name can you blame a young girl for doing the only thing she could think of to escape that?

"I'd known her for years. We grew up together. When she came to me and said she was in trouble, I did what I thought was best. I knew it wasn't my baby. Hell, I'd never even touched her."

Lucas paused, trying to collect his scattered thoughts, giving Brandt a chance to digest everything he'd just said. Brandt was his best friend, but even he hadn't known the whole story.

"She died thinking I hated her, Brandt. We had a huge fight when she told me she'd lied to get me to marry her, and I told her I hated her. I never told her differently after that."

"Don't you think she knew you'd forgiven her? I saw you with
her,
and with Chad when he was a baby. I didn't see a man who hated his wife. I saw a man who cared for her. Maybe you didn't love her as a woman, but you loved her as the mother of your child. You were good to her.” He put a hand on Lucas's back, adding softly, “I think she knew."

Lucas cleared his throat and straightened.

"Why don't you let Silas Scott go?” Brandt ventured. “His deeds will catch up with him eventually. Why don't you concentrate on Megan and the rest of your life?"

The muscle in Lucas's jaw twitched. “I may not have been able to tell Annie I loved her, but I can damn well get the bastard who killed her."

"Isn't there another way to make amends?"

"I think you're forgetting he killed my son, too. I'm going to make him pay."

Brandt gave a defeated sigh. “I guess I'm not going to change your mind any more than the woman upstairs did. I just hope you know what you're giving up."

"I'm not giving up anything,” he said, bristling. “I'll tell you how to get to the outlaws’ hideout, but I'm not going with you,” he announced suddenly. “I'm getting the hell out of here before someone else tries to convince me I'm in love with a woman who's been nothing but trouble since the minute I took a shot at her."

A soft knock at her bedroom door startled Megan. She sat up on the bed, wiping her eyes with the sleeve of her dress. “Come in,” she said, steeling herself to face Lucas once again.

Brandt Donovan stepped into the room.

"What are you doing here?” she asked bluntly, too surprised and upset to be polite.

"I came to see if you were all right.” His gaze moved around the dark room, taking in every feminine detail from the flowered curtains to the lacy bedspread.

"I'm fine,” she said, sniffing once to make sure her tears weren't overly obvious.

"In that case,” he said, shifting uncomfortably, “we really ought to be going."

"Where?” she asked, as though she didn't already know.

Brandt met her gaze for the first time since entering the room. “You know where."

"You mean Lucas isn't even going to come up for me?” she asked, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “I expected at least that from the man determined to see me behind bars."

Brandt shifted, looking away. “He isn't here."

Her heart stopped, and it took a moment to get it started again. “What do you mean?"

"He isn't here. He left about an hour ago."

She was hearing things, she thought. Lucas wouldn't leave without saying good-bye. Would he?

Crossing to the dresser, she tried to remain calm. “We can wait for him to get back.” She twisted the silver-backed hairbrush in her hands. “You're not in that much of a hurry to turn me in, are you?"

"I'm sorry, Megan,” Brandt said quietly. “He isn't coming back."

Her fingers turned white as they tightened around the brush handle. She closed her eyes and told herself not to panic. “Where did he go?"

"After Scott, I suppose."

She turned to Brandt. “You don't think he's
ever
coming back, do you?"

He shrugged. “It's hard to say with a man like Lucas. He could be gone for ten years and then all of a sudden show up on your doorstep."

"But you don't think he's ever coming back, do you?” she asked again, determined to get an answer.

Silence filled the room. Then Brandt sighed and shook his head. “No, I don't think he's coming back."

She felt like crying, and she cursed Lucas for making her feel so lonely and bereft. In the past day she had cried more than she had in her entire life. She straightened her spine. If she ever did see Lucas McCain again, she'd make damn sure he paid for that.

"I guess that's it, then” she said. “If you'll just give me a minute to change clothes, I'll be happy to accompany you into town."

Nodding, he turned the knob and stepped into the hall. “Miss Adams,” he said before closing the door behind him, “I'm sorry."

She turned away, unable to answer, unable to handle the pitying look on his face. When she heard the door click closed, she set down the hairbrush and began unbuttoning her dress.

Not wanting to wear a dress or her old dungarees and man's shirt when she walked into the jail, she changed into one of the skirts Lucas had bought for her. She refused to allow herself to think she might be wearing it as a remembrance of her time with him.

Brandt awaited her at the foot of the stairs. He gave her a smile, but she couldn't find the will to reciprocate.

"Ready?” he asked.

"As ready as I'll ever be,” she answered, knowing it to be the truth.

Offering his arm, Brandt led her out the door onto the porch. In the yard stood her father's black-and-gold carriage, her mare hitched to the front, Brandt's sorrel tied at the back.

"I hope you don't mind that I hooked up the buggy. I didn't think you'd want to ride into town on horseback. And to tell you the truth,” he said as they descended the porch steps, “I'm not too eager to climb into the saddle again myself."

Ignoring his attempt at conversation, she allowed him to help her into the carriage. She slid as far as possible across the seat, staring out at the horizon, seeing nothing.

For a long time, they both remained silent. Then Brandt cleared his throat. “I want you to know I'm not enjoying this,” he said. “The idea of sending a woman to prison doesn't sit well with me."

She didn't answer.

"If I could find another way to handle the situation, I would."

Megan almost reminded him that it was his idea to turn her in
in
the first place. Hadn't Lucas told her more than once that it was Brandt who thought her guilty, Brandt who wanted her brought in, Brandt who expected her to pay for her crimes? But when it came right down to it, and he was the one having to turn her in, he changed his tune. Now it seemed that Brandt's conscience was getting the better of him.

Good. She hoped he choked on it.

"If you need anything,” he added, “anything at all,
don't
be afraid to contact me."

She couldn't contain a snort of disgust at the offer. “I'd rather eat cow droppings."

He cleared his throat again. “I just mean that you don't have to feel cut off from the world. If you need anything, if you just want someone to talk to, you can get in touch with me."

"I have a family, Mr. Donovan.
People who love me and believe me when I tell them the truth.
Whyever
would I need to contact you?”
She used a sharp, scathing tone, hoping to dissuade him from any other attempts at easing his guilty conscience.