Ain't No Angel (3 page)

Laney blinked. “Where am I?” Her voice sounded raspy. She licked her dry lips, and coughed. Why was there so much dust in the air? Her pulse pounded at her temples. Days that started with a headache never turned out well.

“You’re on the stage headed for Landry, Miss.”

She turned toward the voice of a man. He sat across from her, and Laney’s eyes widened. The muttonchops and bowler hat on the guy looked ridiculous.

“You’ve been asleep for so long, we weren’t sure whether to alert the driver.”

Driver? This was definitely not a car. Laney’s brows scrunched together. She glanced at her surroundings. She was inside a cramped old-fashioned coach of some sort, and the windows were wide open, sending in thick clouds of dust. She stared out at the passing landscape. Evergreens and prairieland as far as she could see. Not a hint of a skyscraper or road anywhere.

Laney sucked in a deep breath, the fabric of her clothes squeezing tightly around her ribs.

“Oh my god. What the hell am I wearing?”

Gone was her skimpy black tube dress from the night before. She didn’t even remember taking it off after collapsing on her bed. She couldn’t remember anything after that. She raised her hands in front of her. Lace gloves! When had she ever worn gloves, other than leather ones when working with horses? She raised her legs out in front of her, and nearly kicked the guy who sat across from her. He stared as if she were an alien.

No wonder she was so hot. A full lavender-colored skirt with several layers of underskirts covered her all the way past her ankles. She reached down to lift the fabric, exposing black lace-up shoes and long white cotton pants.

“Cover your eyes, Michael,” the woman next to her hissed, and clamped her hand over the little kid’s face. Her clothing was rather plain looking in comparison to what Laney wore. The woman’s dress was a drab brown cotton. It lacked all the lace and volume of her dress. Her dark hair was parted in the middle and tied back in a bun at the nape of her neck.

“What kind of joke is this?” Laney stared at the man, whose eyes looked as if they would bulge out of their sockets at any moment. He glanced at her leg, then raised his eyes to her face. His skin turned a deep shade of crimson.

“Joke, Miss?” He swallowed visibly, and hastily dabbed a handkerchief against the side of his flushed cheek.

“How did I get here?” Laney demanded. This was anything but funny. She was hot and uncomfortable in the tight bodice of the dress. The laced collar scratched at her neck.  She could barely inhale enough air to keep from passing out. The coach rocked beneath her, and Laney gritted her teeth. She lurched forward, and her hand shot out to brace against the man’s shoulder. Thick layers of fabric scrunched beneath her bottom. No wonder she couldn’t keep her butt on the narrow seat with all that material bunched up back there.

The man’s shocked expression was almost comical. Laney removed her hand from his shoulder and forced herself to lean against the upright backboard.

“Why, you were asleep when we boarded this coach in Butte this morning.” The man exchanged a perplexed look with the woman.

Butte?

“I’m in Montana?” she asked tentatively. The old man from the night before! He’d sent her to Montana, but how? When?

“Montana Territory, Miss,” the man corrected.

Laney squeezed her eyes shut, and she shook her head. Comprehension failed her. Had it been last night that she met the old man? She strained her memory, but couldn’t remember anything since that encounter. He had told her she would be traveling to Montana, but hadn’t said when or how. She swallowed nervously.

“I must have hit my head or something,” she mumbled. The man and woman looked at her as if she was on drugs.

 
Better just play along with them, Laney.

Maybe she’d been drinking, and couldn’t remember being on a plane to Montana. There had to be some kind of an explanation. This had to be some sort of tourist attraction. Complete with period clothing. It still didn’t explain how she came to be here without her knowledge. A jolt of adrenaline hit her. Had the old man drugged her so she wouldn’t change her mind? She might still end up on the news as a missing or dead person after all.

I should be able to remember something, anything. When did I put on these clothes?

 “Landry up ahead, folks. Almost there.” A loud voice called from outside. Laney stuck her head out the window. She couldn’t help but laugh. She really was on a stagecoach like what she’d seen in the movies. A team of six horses pulled the coach, their harness jingling loudly as they cantered along the narrow dirt road. Heck, it wasn’t even a road. It was simply two tracks of dirt where the grass had stopped growing due to repeated trampling.

I’d love to sit up in that driver’s seat.
Driving a team, much less a six-horse team, was such an art form, and Laney had always wanted to learn.

She pulled her head back inside.

“Do either of you know a man with gray hair and a white mustache? He’s got really light blue eyes.” Laney glanced from the man to the woman. “He’s really old,” she added.

“Reverend Johnson?” the woman asked tentatively, shooting a questioning look at the man. “He has light blue eyes. He preaches in Landry from time to time.”

Reverend? Great.
She hadn’t been to church in . . . forever.

“From time to time?” Laney echoed. He’d said he would see her today.

“Landry is a fairly small town, Miss. We have a church, but the reverend preaches all over the territory, so he’s not always here.”

“I see.”
Not really.
Her eyes widened when a sudden thought struck her. “What about Tyler Monroe? Have you heard of him?”

“Yes, of course we have,” Mutton Chops supplied. “He’s got a large ranch a few miles from town. Breeds some fine horses out there.” He actually smiled, as if he’d been proud to divulge the information.

Well, now she was getting somewhere. At least it proved that her encounter with the old man wasn’t a figment of her imagination. If she couldn’t find him, she’d just go straight to this Tyler’s home.

The coach slowed, and Laney glanced out the window again. Some building facades came into view. She had the distinct feeling as if she’d stepped into a movie set. Wooden boardwalks lined either side of the single street. The coach lurched to a stop.

“End of the line, folks. Watch your step as you get out,” the driver shouted. People outside spoke excitedly, and in the background, some rambunctious men whooped and hollered. The door to the coach opened, and a man’s hand reached inside. The woman ushered her little boy down the step, then accepted the man’s help. Laney glanced at Mutton Chop.

“Ladies first.” He nodded with his chin toward the door.

She scooched toward the door, then stood bent forward on unsteady legs. A leather-gloved hand reached into the coach, and she grasped it. The bulky skirts made it impossible to get out of the coach without falling flat on her face. Grabbing a handful of the material to keep from tripping, she cursed between clenched teeth, and ducked out of the door. She squinted into the bright sunlight, and stepped down onto solid ground.

Chapter 3

Laney surveyed her surroundings. Several people stood anxiously by the stagecoach, apparently waiting for something. Some stared at her outright, while others whispered. The mutton chop guy had gotten off behind her and disappeared into the crowd. A man dressed in faded overalls and wearing a straw hat met the woman with the kid. He scooped the boy up into his arms, and the three of them walked away. The driver and another man stood on top of the coach, tossing packages and parcels at the eager crowd. A large embroidered bag dropped to the ground beside her, and the driver of the coach pointed at her.

“Your bag, Miss. And there’s the rest of your luggage.” He tipped his hat and pointed at three large wooden trunks stacked in the middle of the dirt street. He climbed back up onto the driver’s seat, and yelled at the team of horses. Wheels squeaked, and harnesses jingled.

Laney spun around. “Wait, that’s not my bag.”

She’d never owned a bag that looked as if it was made from a worn-out rug. If she did have any luggage, it would more than likely be her faux leather duffel bag. Running after the coach would be futile. She could barely move or breathe in the clothes she wore, and the shoes pinched her toes so tight, she was sure there’d be blisters later. “And those trunks aren’t mine, either,” she added, speaking to no one in particular.

She raised her head and glanced at the remaining people. Some had already dispersed, while others remained, whispering and looking in her direction. Four young men in denims, chaps, and wearing cowboy hats stood outside a storefront, their heads together and pointing at her. Two of them elbowed each other in the side and sniggered.

Laney turned her head to glimpse at her backside. Good grief! All that material and whatever contraption was under the skirt made her butt stick out like a waddling duck. Those guys were no doubt having a good laugh at her expense.

Yeah, I bet I look real funny in this outfit. I feel like a Thanksgiving Turkey.

“This is stupid. Why am I standing in the middle of the street?” Laney muttered under her breath. She glanced at the bag at her feet, and groaned when she bent forward to pick it up.

“What the hell is in here?” She strained to lift the heavy bag. Only then did something odd occur to her. Where were all the cars? Even in a small country town that looked to have been stuck in the eighteen hundreds, wouldn’t there be at least a few cars around? An old antique buckboard pulled by a team of mules rolled down the street, and several horses stood tethered to some hitching posts along the store fronts. The air was infused with the smell of livestock.

This could be your dream come true, Laney. Horses everywhere.

She blew some air through her mouth, and stepped toward the boardwalk, adjusting the handle of the bag in her hand. The four men fell silent, and stared at her. Maybe they would know how to get to Tyler Monroe’s place.

An inexplicable tingle crawled up her neck, sending a shiver down her spine. Someone other than those cowboys was watching her. It was a feeling, like some sixth sense. Laney turned slowly, her heart racing in her chest. On the other side of the street stood a man leaning against a building post, his arms crossed over his chest. His cowboy hat was pulled low over his forehead, but even without seeing his eyes, Laney was absolutely sure he stared straight at her.

Her mouth went dry all of a sudden, and she sucked in a deep breath, which was stopped short by the confining clothes that pressed against her ribs. She had to get out of this dress and into something more comfortable. The sleeves were so tight, she couldn’t even roll them up to get at least some relief from the heat. Hopefully there was a pair of jeans and a t-shirt in that bag.

“Miss Goodman?”

Laney wheeled back around. One of the cowboys had approached her, and stood so close, she involuntarily took a step back.

Geesh, Laney! You’re never this jumpy.

She raised her head to look up into the smiling brown eyes of a good-looking guy with a deeply tanned face. Strands of his black hair peeked out from under his hat. He appraised her discreetly, his eyes darting from her face to her chest. She’d met his type plenty of times, and her spine stiffened.

“Yes, that’s me,” she said, her voice clipped.

His dazzling smile widened, and he turned his head to nod at the three other cowboys who remained by the boardwalk.

“Welcome to Landry, Miss Goodman. I’m Gabe McFarlain.” He touched the brim of his hat, and an expectant look passed through his eyes.

Laney raised her brows. “Am I supposed to know you?”

His smile faded momentarily, a perplexed expression on his face. “We exchanged correspondence several weeks ago.”

Exchanged correspondence? Who talked like that?

“No we didn’t,” Laney said. Was this a new sort of come-on? How did this guy even know her name?

Gabe stared at her in confusion.

Laney didn’t hide the annoyance in her voice. “Do you know how to get to Tyler Monroe’s ranch?” She swiped her gloved hand across her forehead, and rubbed at her itchy neck. Sweat trickled between her breasts. She fumbled with the top buttons of the bodice. She was about to melt in this outfit.

Gabe’s gaze followed the movement of her fingers, and his smile was back instantly. “Ah, sure, Miss Goodman. But I don’t see no need to tell you how to get there, when Ty can take you there himself.”

Laney sighed dramatically. “Okay. Do you know where I can find
Ty
?” She shifted weight from one foot to the other to ease the pain caused by her shoes.

Gabe nodded with his chin at something behind her. Her pulse increased again. She turned. The man who’d been watching her pushed away from the post, and slowly crossed the street. Laney stared. His stride projected a certain confidence she’d rarely seen in men. He wore tan-colored leather pants rather than the denim-type jeans these other guys wore underneath their chaps. His off-white cotton shirt hugged broad shoulders and was tucked in at the waist.

She stared openly. That guy was Tyler Monroe? Laney swallowed. This
job
might not be so unbearable after all. He stopped just beside her and tipped his hat, then wordlessly took the heavy bag from her grasp. Laney rubbed at her sore arm.

“Thanks.” She lifted her head to look up into his face. Brown eyes the color of melted chocolate stared back at her. Eyes she could get lost in. Involuntarily, she licked at her lower lip.

 He darted a quick harsh look at Gabe. When his gaze returned to her, his features softened considerably. His mouth curved into an easy smile, and Laney’s heart hammered against her ribs.

“Miss Goodman? I hope your journey wasn’t too uncomfortable.” He removed his hat from his head.

Laney swallowed back the lump in her throat. She nearly slapped her own cheek. She couldn’t stop staring at him. Strands of sandy blonde, nearly brown hair spilled over his forehead. A five o’clock shadow covered his square jaw and above his lip, giving him a ruggedly masculine look. The smile on his face didn’t seem to reach his eyes, but it did give him a certain boyish look. He was a lot younger than she expected. She’d pictured some middle-aged or older man, not this athletic, drop-dead gorgeous guy in his mid-twenties. Everything about him screamed
rugged outdoorsman
. So unlike the type of guys she’d met in the city.

His intense gaze held hers, and she detected a flicker of annoyance in his eyes. She blinked, breaking the contact. If she wasn’t careful, she’d be tripping all over herself. This day . . . these last two days, ever since she stepped into that limousine in L.A., had been too good to be true. Laney mentally shook her head. Nothing good ever happened to her.

Obviously there was something wrong with Tyler. No man could be this good looking without having some sort of hang-up or personality problem. Why would he need to pay for a prostitute, of all things? Men like that, too handsome for their own good, were mostly arrogant, overbearing jackasses. Maybe he had an attitude problem and couldn’t stay in a relationship because of it. Or maybe he just didn’t like to commit. Whatever the reason, it was none of her business. She was here for only a short time. She’d perform her duties as an escort, and hopefully she could rehab his horse quickly. With any luck, and if she did her job well, he’d write her a reference for when she returned to L.A. With a good letter of recommendation, the guy at the track might hire her.

“Miss Goodman?” His brows wrinkled.

“Huh? Oh,” Laney stammered. “Um, call me Laney. And you’re Tyler?”

Please, let this be Tyler
.

He nodded, and repeated her name. His deep voice, the way he said her name, sounded like a caress sliding off his tongue. Goosebumps shot up her arms, despite the stifling heat.

Geesh, Laney, get a grip.

Gabe coughed loudly next to her. “I’m afraid there’s been a change in plans, Miss Goodman. Tyler here can fill you in on the particulars.” He glanced up at the other man, a disapproving frown on his face. “But not to worry. There are plenty of other, eager—”

“There’s been no change in plans,” Tyler cut him off sharply. The two men stared each other down like a couple of dogs ready to get into a fight. A wide grin suddenly brightened Gabe’s face, and he relaxed his stance. Next to her, the tension in Tyler was almost palpable.

“Well, in that case, and since the introductions are finished, I suppose you want to go see Reverend Johnson. He’s expecting you.” Gabe rubbed his hands together.

Laney’s head snapped up. “Reverend Johnson? He’s here?”

“You know him?” Tyler asked. He looked at her in surprise.

“I think so. Old guy with gray hair and blue eyes?”

Tyler nodded, and Laney breathed a sigh of relief. Thank goodness the old man was here. He could fill her in on her apparent memory loss, and what exactly was expected of her.

“Awesome.” Laney smiled. “I really need to see him. Where’s the church?”

Gabe and Tyler exchanged perplexed looks as if she’d said something odd. Gabe grinned smugly, and Tyler scowled. There was some sort of silent communication going on between these two, and if she had to guess, it was because of her. Gabe broke eye contact first, and Tyler offered Laney his arm.

She raised her brows at his gesture. Was everyone in Montana this polite? Hesitating, she placed her arm through his. The solid feel of muscle beneath her palm sent a surge of heat through her insides.  She shot a quick glance sideways and up at his face. His jaw muscles tightened, as if he was suddenly upset about something. Gabe joined the three cowboys he’d been standing with earlier, and four pairs of eyes stared after her and Tyler.

Silently, he led her along the boardwalk until they reached the end of the street, which also appeared to be the end of town. The sound of lively piano music drifted from one of the buildings that identified itself as a saloon by the bold white letters on the façade. Women’s laughter came from within the building, and Tyler walked faster.

A million questions flooded Laney’s mind, but she didn’t want to appear naïve-sounding, so she remained quiet. She could ask the reverend in a few minutes. Why hadn’t he told her that he was a preacher when she first met him? Why would a man of the church solicit her to prostitute herself to a man who lived thousands of miles away? She shuddered involuntarily. This situation was beginning to creep her out. This town was odd with its lack of anything modern, and even the people dressed as if time had stood still. Was this some kind of colony of freaks that liked to live differently and in isolation from the rest of the world?

Tyler slowed, and glanced at her. “Are you all right?” he asked, his forehead scrunched.

“Of course I am,” Laney mumbled. She laughed nervously. Was her body language so obvious? “Why wouldn’t I be all right?”

Are you sure you want to go through with this, Laney? Gorgeous hunk or not, something doesn’t feel right.