LaceysWay (25 page)

“Hungry?” he asked.

Lacey nodded. She hadn’t eaten since the night before.

“Good. I ordered dinner about twenty minutes ago. It should
be here soon. Would you care for a drink? Some sherry, perhaps?”

“No, thank you.” She was suddenly aware of being alone in
J.J.’s office. What would Matt think if he found out? She could feel Tucker’s
eyes watching her and she shivered, unaccountably troubled by the expression in
his icy green eyes. She felt suddenly like a mouse being stalked by a cat. She
swallowed hard as J.J. sat down on the sofa and took her hand in his. Gently he
massaged the back of her hand with his thumb, marveling at its softness. Yes,
she was vulnerable now, he thought, and the idea filled him with excitement,
like a hunter about to close in for the kill.

“The sheriff was here a while ago,” he remarked. “He knows
who Matt is.”

Fear knotted in Lacey’s throat and clawed at her belly,
making speech impossible. She could only stare at J.J., her eyes wide with
disbelief as her worst fears came true.

J.J. patted her hand sympathetically. “They haven’t caught
him. Not yet. But it’s only a matter of time.”

“He didn’t do it.”

“Didn’t he?”

“No.”

J.J. shrugged. “Three men took the stand and swore he was
guilty.”

“They lied,” Lacey said, her eyes begging him to believe
her.

“Maybe,” J.J. mused. “And maybe Matt Drago’s lying when he
says he’s innocent.”

Lacey frowned.
Was
Matt lying? Was it possible he was
guilty?

“Is there anything I can do?” J.J. asked solicitously.

“No.” Her voice was like broken glass, cracked and filled
with pain.

“Would you like to stay here tonight?”

“I couldn’t,” Lacey said. “It wouldn’t be proper.”

Tucker nodded, his eyes warm with understanding. Inwardly he
was amused. It wouldn’t be proper for her to spend the night in his office, yet
she didn’t seem to mind working in the saloon. Strange, the workings of the
female mind.

There was a knock at the door, and a waiter from the hotel dining
room entered J.J.’s office. His face was impassive as he spread a cloth on
J.J.’s desk and laid out a meal fit for a king.

Lacey picked at her food, not tasting anything. The sheriff
knew who Matt was. It was just a matter of time before Matt was found and
arrested again. The long journey back to Salt Creek, the argument they’d had
the night before, it had all been for nothing.

“Lacey?”

“I’m sorry,” she said, laying her fork aside. “I guess I’m
just not hungry.”

“I understand,” J.J. assured her. “Come, let me walk you
home.”

Lacey nodded and J.J. stood up. Taking his coat, he draped
it over her shoulders, then took her arm and escorted her back to the hotel.

He took his leave of her in the lobby, at Lacey’s request.
“Send for me if you need me,” J.J. said. “Any time, day or night.” He took her
hands in his and gave them a squeeze.

“I will.”

“I’ll look in on you in the morning.”

“Thank you, J.J. You’ve been very kind.”

“Only concerned,” he said, and, leaning forward, he brushed
his lips against the back of her hand. “Try not to worry.”

Lacey nodded. Climbing the stairs to her room, she stepped
inside and closed the door. How empty and dark the room was, she thought
bleakly, as empty and dark as the pain in her heart.

She stood there for a long time letting the tears fall,
until sobs racked her body and she fell across the bed, hurting more than she
had ever hurt in her life.

Chapter Fourteen

Matt regained consciousness a layer at a time, hearing
footsteps moving around upstairs, feeling the dull ache in his arm, tasting the
whiskey that lay heavy in his belly. The basement smelled of dampness and
decay.

Opening his eyes, he saw only darkness, and he wondered how
long he had been out. He’d fainted when Susanne set his arm. Glancing at it
now, he saw that his arm was neatly splinted and swathed in a thick bandage, a
ghostly splash of white in the darkness that surrounded him.

His muscles tensed as the basement door opened and he heard
someone coming down the stairs. He breathed a sigh of sweet relief when he saw
it was Susanne. She carried a kerosene lamp in one hand and a covered basket in
the other.

“I brought you something to eat,” she said, smiling shyly.
“I hope you’re hungry.”

He wasn’t, but he said he was just to please her. After all,
she’d gone to a lot of trouble on his behalf and he didn’t want to hurt her
feelings.

“How long have I been unconscious?” Matt asked as she lifted
a plate of steak and fried potatoes from the basket and placed it on the floor
beside him.

“All day,” Susanne answered. “I’ve been so worried.”

“All day? What time is it now?”

“Almost ten.”

Matt swore softly, and the mild oath brought a flush of
embarrassment to Susanne’s cheeks. “Sorry,” Matt muttered.

Susanne nodded, bending her head over the plate to hide her
embarrassment. With graceful movements, she cut the steak into bite-sized
pieces so he could manage it. She had thought, because of his broken arm, that
she might offer to feed him, but she knew instinctively that he would not
appreciate being treated like an invalid. Instead she pushed the closer to him
and handed him the fork.

“Thanks,” Matt said.

Susanne nodded. Tucking her skirts around her ankles, she
sat there, quiet and thoughtful, while he ate. He was such a big man. His skin
was dark, his eyes the color of the sky at night. His hands were big, the
fingers long and capable. She glanced at her own hands, small and delicate and
as pale as cream, and then looked at his again, trying to imagine what it would
be like to feel his hands on her face. She felt a secret longing to reach out
and stroke his cheek, to smooth the lines of pain from his brow and erase the
worry from his eyes. She didn’t, of course. He was Lacey’s husband, a stranger
Susanne had taken in out of pity because he was hurt, and out of friendship for
the woman who had wanted to be her friend.

“You’re a good cook,” Matt remarked as he laid the fork
aside. His eyes held hers, and a slow smile spread across his face. “I haven’t
thanked you for your help.”

“It isn’t necessary.”

“The hell it isn’t,” he retorted, and then grinned. “Sorry.
I guess working in that saloon has made me forget how to talk around decent
people.”

“It’s all right,” Susanne assured him with a rueful grin.
“J.J. swears occasionally, too.” She lowered her gaze, uncomfortable beneath
his unwavering eyes. Life was so unfair, she thought sadly. She had locked
herself away from the world, certain she had nothing to live for, certain she
would never again find a man she could love. Now Matt was here, and she knew
that, with very little effort, she could love him. He was tall and strong and
handsome, soft-spoken and good-hearted, everything Billy had been. Indeed, he
reminded her of Billy in many ways.

Matt shifted his position on the stone floor, grunting
softly as a twinge of pain went through his broken arm.

“Are you all right?” Susanne asked.

“Yeah. You did a nice job setting my arm. I’m obliged to
you.”

Susanne basked in the glow of his approval. His smile was
warm and friendly, and a rush of envy went through her as she thought of how
lucky Lacey was to have such a man for her husband.

“I’d better go,” Susanne said.

“I wish you’d stay,” Matt said. “It’s lonely down here.”

“Very well.” She settled her skirts around her ankles once
more and folded her hands in her lap. J.J. wouldn’t be home for hours. “Shall
we talk?”

“Sure.”

“About what?” Susanne asked, smiling up at him.

“You,” Matt said, returning her smile. “Tell me about you.
What are you doing buried in a big old house like this?”

Had anyone else dared ask such a question, she would have
refused to answer. But she could tell Matt because he would understand. “My
parents died when I was very young,” Susanne began, her voice soft and wistful.
“J.J. raised me. We lived back East until I was fourteen, and then J.J. decided
to move West. There was a fortune to be made out here, he said, and he wanted
his share. For a while he searched for gold, but it was hard work and he never
found more than a handful of dust in two years, so we left California and
started back East. When we reached Salt Creek, J.J. met a man and they went
into business together. I don’t know exactly what it was. Something to do with
guns, I think. Anyway, J.J. made a lot of money and he built the saloon, and
he’s done very well. I met Billy here…”

Susanne’s voice trailed off and she stared at Matt as if
seeing him for the first time. Why was she talking to this man—this
murderer
?

“Why?” she cried, her voice suddenly filled with anguish.
“Why did you kill him? He was so good to me. He loved me. Why?”

“I didn’t kill him,” Matt said forcefully. “You’ve got to
believe me.”

“J.J. said you did,” Susanne sobbed. “J.J.’s never lied to
me.”

“Susanne, listen to me.” He put his hand on her forearm and
gave it a squeeze. “Listen to me! I didn’t kill him. I swear it. But I know who
did.”

Susanne blinked back her tears. She gazed into Matt’s eyes
and knew he was telling the truth.

“Who was it?” she asked. “Who killed my Billy?”

“It was Pitman.”

“Toby? Why would he kill Billy?”

“I don’t know, but I’m going to find out. I can promise you
that.” Matt frowned. “What happened to J.J.’s business partner?”

“Someone stabbed him in the back. They found his body
floating face down in the river.”

“How long ago was that?”

“I don’t know. Just before J.J. built the saloon, I think. I
don’t remember.” She looked at Matt candidly. “The people in town think I’m
crazy,” she said. “Do you?”

The question took Matt by surprise. One minute she was torn
up with grief, and the next she was asking if he thought she was crazy. Maybe
she was.

“I don’t think you’re crazy,” he answered slowly. “But I
think you’ve grieved long enough. You’re much too pretty and too young to stay
locked up inside this place.”

Susanne smiled, pleased by his words. “Do you really think
I’m pretty?” she asked shyly. J.J. always said so, but he was her brother and
didn’t count.

“You’re more than pretty,” Matt said, meaning it. “I’d court
you myself if I wasn’t a married man.”

“Really?” Her cheeks grew rosy with the pleasure of his
compliment.

“Really. Don’t hide yourself from the world, Susanne. You should
have a man to love you, children, a life with some meaning, some happiness.”

“Yes,” Susanne said slowly. “Perhaps you’re right.”

And perhaps he was, she mused thoughtfully. Perhaps she had
spent enough time grieving for what might have been. Billy was gone, and he was
never coming back. Perhaps, somewhere, she might find another man to love. A
man like Matt Drago.

“It’s getting late,” she said. “I’d better go before J.J.
comes home.”

Matt nodded. “Thanks again, Susanne.”

She smiled at him, wishing she had the nerve to kiss him
good night. Instead she picked up the plate and utensils and placed them in the
basket. “Sleep well,” she said softly and made her way up the stairs, her long
skirts swishing softly behind her.

Matt sat there for a long time, his thoughts glum. He
wondered how Lacey was getting along, and what she was thinking. He wanted
desperately to send her a message, to assure her that he hadn’t abandoned her
and hadn’t meant the terrible things he’d said. But such a move would be
unwise. Messages could be intercepted. Pitman might be watching her, waiting
for Lacey to lead him to Matt.

Pitman. Matt rubbed his jaw where Pitman had struck him. It
was sore, tender to the touch. He was certain now that Toby Pitman had killed
Billy Henderson. As soon as his arm healed, he would find a way to prove it.
Once that was done, Matt’s life would be his own again. He would take Lacey and
go to Kansas and they would settle down and make a good life together.

But first he had to clear his name.

Susanne was happy in the next two days, happier than she had
been since Billy died. She had a reason to live, someone to care for. Someone
to love. She knew that Matt could never be hers, that he belonged to Lacey, but
she spent hours daydreaming of what it would be like to be his wife. Knowing it
was impossible, she fantasized that somehow she could keep Matt in the basement
forever, that she could make him love her.

She took care with her appearance and discarded her black
silk dresses in favor of soft blues and greens. Her gowns were out of style
now, but they suited her complexion and figure, and Matt complimented her
telling her she was as pretty as the flowers that bloomed in the mountains.
They spent a lot of time talking of unimportant things, and Susanna felt her
grief and unhappiness melt away under the genuine affection that Matt felt for
her.

She cooked elaborate meals and served them on her finest
china and crystal. She prepared fancy desserts, brought him J.J.s finest cigars
and most expensive whiskey. And dreamed her girlish dreams. J.J. Tucker, too,
was not unaware of sudden change in Susanne’s behavior. She was taking an
interest in life again, singing as she cooked his meals. Rich desserts began
cropping up in the kitchen, their best china came out of the cupboard, her
mourning clothes were replaced by bright cottons and gaily printed silks. She
smiled all the time her eyes bright and alive, her laughter again filling the
house. His sister was in love. And Matt Drago was still missing.

Susanne stared at her brother, her eyes wide, her lips
white. “I don’t know what you mean,” she said. “You’re talking nonsense.”

“Am I?” J.J. asked. He leaned back in his chair, his arms
folded across his chest, his eyes riveted on his sister’s face.

“Of course.” Susanne stood up. Her hands, hidden in the
folds of her blue linen skirt, were tightly clenched. “I’m going up to bed now.
I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Where is he, Susanne?” J.J. demanded angrily. “I know
you’re hiding him somewhere in the house. Where? Your room or the basement?”

“I’m not!” She tried to keep her voice even, but it rose
shrilly, laced with guilt.

J.J. stood up, his face composing itself into passive lines.
“The sheriff has searched every inch of this town, every store, every house,”
he explained patiently. “He’s looked in every abandoned building and well and
even under the jailhouse porch. I talked to Pitman. He told me Drago was hurt.
This is the only place the sheriff hasn’t searched yet. Now, where is he?”

“In the basement,” Susanne confessed in a small voice.
“Please don’t hurt him, J.J.”

Tucker looked at his sister with something akin to scorn.
“You care for him, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I’ll be damned,” J.J. murmured, shaking his head in
disbelief.

“J.J.?” Susanne’s voice reached out to him, pulling him back
to the problem at hand.

“The sheriff’s on his way over,” J.J. said. “I think you’d
better go upstairs.”

“The sheriff?” Susanne said weakly. “Coming here?”

J.J. nodded, and all of Susanne’s daydreams vanished in that
instant. She had imagined that somehow she might make Matt Drago love her, if
only for a little while. She had entertained visions of the two of them sitting
side by side in the dark, exchanging a kiss, a caress. He belonged to Lacey—she
knew that, but she had hoped he could be hers for just a little while, until
his arm healed and he was able to defend himself again.

“Susanne?”

“Oh, J.J., how could you?” she sobbed, and turning on her
heel, she gathered her skirts and ran up the stairs to her room.

Matt was half asleep when he heard the basement door swing
open. He sat up, a feeling of helplessness washing over him as he heard the
sheriff’s voice. And then J.J. Tucker and Bill Henderson were standing on
either side of him. The Sheriff had a gun in his hand.

“Get up,” the lawman growled, and Matt was certain he had
never seen such hatred in anyone’s eyes in all his life.

Awkwardly Matt gained his feet. His eyes met J.J.’s, and he
nodded slowly.
So
, he thought sourly,
that’s the way it’s going to be
.
Tucker wanted Lacey, wanted her bad enough to turn Matt over to the sheriff to
get him out of the way.

Tucker met Drago’s glance and shrugged, his mouth turning
down in a mocking smile.

“Let’s go,” Henderson said, and gave Matt a shove toward the
stairs.

The walk to the jail seemed longer than usual. Matt glanced
up at his hotel room as they passed by, wondering if Lacey was still awake.

“Don’t worry,” Tucker said, lighting a cigar and placing it
in the corner of his mouth. “I’ll lake good care of her.”

“You can try,” Matt retorted. But deep inside he wondered
how long Lacey would be able to keep Tucker at bay. J.J. was a smooth talker,
and Lacey would be confused and lonely, vulnerable.

Inside the jail, Matt hesitated before stepping into the
cell. It was the same one he had occupied before, he thought bitterly, and
shivered as Henderson shut the cell door with a bang and turned the key in the
lock.

“Beat it,” the sheriff told J.J., and Tucker obligingly left
the jailhouse, whistling softly.