A Texan's Luck (15 page)

He didn't have long to wait before Sheriff Riley walked across the porch.

Walker opened the door before the sheriff had time to knock.

"Didn't figure you'd be ready for me." The sheriff looked more suspicious than surprised. "I finished my rounds a little earlier than I planned and thought I'd wait until you had time to say your good nights."

"We said good night. I'm ready," Walker answered, deciding one second longer than necessary under the same roof with Lacy was too long. "Where do I meet this man you think I need to talk to?"

Riley removed his coat as he ambled toward one of the cane chairs near the big potbellied stove in the center of the shop. "He didn't like the idea, but I told him this time a night the saloon would be a good place to visit. It's too cold to stand on the street corner and talk." The old man rattled an empty coffeepot and frowned. "He never has liked crowds, but I got him to agree. He's waiting for you now."

Walker didn't comment. The bar was fine. Anywhere sounded better than here. "I'll be back in an hour."

The sheriff laughed. "If you're talking to Carter McKoy, you'll be back sooner than that, but it don't matter. I'll be settled in here until you return. Take your time. I figure you and Carter might as well be brother-in-laws because your wives think of themselves as sisters. So you'd need to get to know one another, even if Zeb Whitaker wasn't a threat. I already told him about the rumor that Whitaker's offered money for any man who'll bring one of the girls to him." Riley looked directly at Walker. "And there is not much some men won't do for a hundred dollars. Times are hard."

Walker agreed, but he prayed the rumor was just that, a rumor and nothing more. He didn't like the idea of Lacy having a price on her head.

He was halfway to the saloon before he thought that he should have asked for a description of Carter. Other than knowing the man didn't want to meet him in a bar, he had no information about McKoy.

Walker entered, circled the room, and saw only one man who looked like he'd rather be in hell than inside the saloon. He was a big man of about Walker's height and maybe a few years older. His clothes marked him as more farmer than rancher, and no gun hung about his waist. He stood three feet from the door, looking as if he might bolt at any moment.

Walker extended his hand. "Carter McKoy?"

McKoy nodded. "Captain Larson."

Walker watched the man Lacy talked of often. McKoy married her best friend, Bailee, the same night Walker's name was signed to a marriage license with Lacy. To hear Lacy talk, she considered McKoy the perfect husband. The man who could do everything from build houses to read his children to sleep. "Nice to meet you." Walker measured the man. He'd learn to size a man up fast in the army.

Carter only stared.

"Shall we take a seat?"

Carter nodded once more.

They found a table in the back where they could see the door as well as everyone in the room. Walker held up two fingers to the bartender as he sat down. "You don't come in here much." It was a statement to Carter, not a question.

"No," he answered.

Walker waited for the drinks while watching the crowd with McKoy. A saloon on a weeknight was pretty much the same in every town. Regulars came in to drink their troubles away, travelers to relax, gamblers to test their luck. Barmaids, days, or weeks away from a good bath, milled among the groups of men. Added to the local mix tonight were several cowhands returning from a fall cattle drive with too much money in their pockets and nothing but time on their hands until spring roundup. A poker game in the back provided background noise.

The bartender sloshed two whiskeys on the table and left.

Walker picked up his drink and leaned forward. "The sheriff said you needed to see me."

Carter didn't touch his glass. "My Bailee's worried about Lacy." The man acted like every word had to be forced out. "She … we think she should be with us at my farm. I've got three hands I can trust on round-the-clock guard, and it being winter, I can stay close to the house. She'd be safer with us than in town."

If any other man in the room had said that to Walker, he would have taken offense. But Carter stared at him directly, with honest eyes that indicated the man had never learned to lie. "That's kind of you—" Walker started.

"It's not being kind. Lacy's family."

Walker once heard the sheriff say that not a rabbit could hop onto Carter's farm without him knowing about it. Carter didn't look like a man who planned to argue the truth, and Walker was smart enough not to waste his time.

"Lacy's my wife," he said calmly. "Would you give up your wife to another to guard?"

A hint of a smile twisted the corner of Carter's mouth. "No. I wouldn't." He stood. The discussion was over. Each man understood the other.

Walker offered his hand to the big man once more. No words passed between them. None were needed. He knew Carter would be there if he needed him, and he knew he'd cover Carter's back any day. Walker almost wished he could stay around and get to know the farmer who found words so hard and loyalty so easy.

As Carter turned, Walker said, "Take care of your Bailee."

Carter's answer was barely above the noise of the crowd. "Take care of your Lacy."

Walker watched him leave, then sat down and drank the other whiskey. Bailee might be Carter's, but there was no possibility Lacy was his.

Walker didn't understand her temper any more than he understood her. She'd be happy, even laughing one minute and arguing with him the next. All his life he'd let reason rule his actions. He'd been a fool once at seventeen and swore he never would allow emotion to rule his actions again.

He was a big enough man to admit that he made a mistake with Lacy the day they met. She thought she was coming to a real husband, while all he'd thought about was getting her out of town.

Walker accepted a third drink from the bartender, something he never did, as he remembered their short time together. Maybe her leaving that day had not been all he thought about. He remembered how she'd looked as she took off her clothes in front of him as simply as if she'd done it a hundred times. There had been no show about it and the beauty lay in the simplicity of her actions.

One of the barmaids delivered a couple more glasses of whiskey. "Need some company?"

"I'm afraid I'm not much for company tonight," Walker answered, but she moved around and sat on his knee anyway. He downed the whiskey, feeling his mind start to cloud.

"Why don't you let me be the judge of that?" She purred like a kitten, but she smelled like cheap perfume. Her hand wound around his neck as she pressed one breast against his shoulder. "I bet you could be mighty fine company on a cold night like this, soldier."

He drank the other whiskey she'd brought, trying to remember how many he'd had and cupped the back of her head with his hand. His eyes blurred just enough that for a moment he couldn't see her clearly.

She gave no resistance as he pulled her mouth to his. He kissed her long and hard.

When he let her go, she moaned in an exaggerated pleasure he was sure she didn't feel. The taste of her mouth made him want to vomit. Maybe Lacy was right, and something was wrong with him. He'd wanted to kiss his wife and hadn't while he had no desire to kiss the woman on his knee, yet he had.

The saloon girl stretched, moving her body close to his face. "You want to go upstairs?"

The stiff lace on her dress scratched his chin.

Walker laughed without humor. "No thanks, I've already been up to the landing tonight, and that was enough."

She acted hurt. "Well, you find me when you're feeling like a little company. I can show you a few tricks that little wife of yours will never learn in the print shop."

Half the town must know who he was, Walker realized. "No thanks," he mumbled feeling like he'd somehow dishonored Lacy by kissing the barmaid.

Not that Lacy wanted him as a husband, and he certainly didn't want her as a wife. Which left them where? Celibate till death?

Walker wished he could ride off. A good range war almost looked inviting. As far as he was concerned, he didn't want to see another female for the rest of his life. He'd never be drunk enough or dumb enough to consider the barmaid's offer, but he thanked her anyway. He'd also never be fool enough to ask Lacy again.

He stayed another half hour watching the crowd, having another drink, and trying to figure out why he had thought kissing Lacy would be a good idea. She'd been nice to him all day, but she was nice to Jay Boy and Duncan, too. She'd even touched him several times. Probably less than she petted her cats, he decided. If he had to pass a test on reading his wife, he'd be found illiterate within seconds.

Maybe he'd been on the frontier too long. Another five years at a fort without a woman, and he'd probably go so crazy towns would post signs saying he couldn't enter for fear he'd attack every woman on the street.

But it hadn't been a hunger for
any
woman tonight. If it had, he'd be upstairs right now with the barmaid.

It was a hunger for one woman. A woman who was across the street promising to kill him if he stepped foot in her bedroom. Walker laughed to himself. It wasn't like he could have her in his bed and get her out of his system.

He'd already done that, and it hadn't worked.

Walking back to the print shop, he took a deep breath, trying to clear his mind. He was here to do a job. Nothing more. He'd always been able to concentrate on the mission. It was time he put the last seven years of training to work. In his early army days, he stood guard for twelve-hour shifts in all kinds of weather. Watching over Lacy for three more weeks couldn't be any more grueling.

After bidding the sheriff good night, Walker locked up and climbed the stairs. The apartment was quiet and dark as he knew it would be. Even if she were awake, she wouldn't be coming out to say good night to him. Not tonight.

Three feet into the room he stumbled over the corner of the quilting frame and lost his balance. Tumbling into one of her make-believe chairs, he shattered the box below the quilts into splinters and rolled across the floor, slamming against the corner of the bookshelf. Andy flew off one of the shelves, yelled his protest, then disappeared under the other make-believe chair.

For a moment, he remained perfectly still, mentally checking to see if he still lived. Then he moved one limb at a time to determine damage. When he opened an eye, both of Lacy's cats stared at him from just beneath the chair. They looked disgusted.

Walker swore that the one-eared cat named Andy was laughing at him. A lamp flickered to life behind him. Walker rolled slowly over.

Lacy stood just outside her bedroom door, the lamp in one hand, her Colt in the other. "What happened?" She appeared worried and frightened as she moved toward him, holding both the gun and the light high. "Did someone try to break in?"

Walker sat up as she knelt at his side. "I tripped."

Her worry turned to anger. "You're drunk!"

The volume of her voice made his head ring, and he covered one ear, hoping to halve the sound. "I am not," he tried to answer in a normal tone while he mentally counted the drinks he'd had.

"And bleeding," she continued, "all over my new quilt."

Walker pulled his hand away from his head. Blood dripped off his fingers. "Well, maybe a little, but there's nothing wrong with my hearing. You don't need to keep yelling, madam."

Lacy stood and took the lamp with her. "Follow me."

He wasn't sure how he was supposed to do that in the dark with traps obviously waiting all over the room for him to fall into, but she didn't sound like a woman who would consider discussing her plan of action.

Fumbling his way to the kitchen, he sat in the first chair. His skull felt like it might split in two at any moment.

Lacy pumped a bowl of water and brought it to the table along with several towels. "Be still," she said as she plowed through his hair, searching for the source of blood.

With her standing and him seated, his face came breast level to her. He told himself he was gentleman enough not to notice.

He lied.

When she leaned across his shoulder to turn up the lamp, her side brushed against his temple.

Walker closed his eyes and wished he would bleed to death fast so the torture would be over soon.

"Be still, Captain." She handled his head with a none-too-gentle touch. "How can I find the cut if you keep moving around?"

Walker decided to follow orders and let her continue the cruelty.

One thin layer of cotton gown lay between his jaw and her breast.
Don't think about it,
he told himself.

As she worked, the material brushed his face from time to time, hinting at the softness that might be just beyond her gown. Unlike the barmaid's rough lace, his wife's gown had been washed soft and smelled, as she always did, of peach blossoms.

She dipped the corner of a towel in cold water and pressed it to the crown of his head. "I think it will stop bleeding if I press here for a while. Otherwise we could try stitching it closed." She leaned closer. "I've never tried sewing skin, but I think I could do it. I've seen the doctor do it a few times, and it didn't appear all that hard."