[Montacroix Royal Family Series 03] - The Outlaw (20 page)

"What if it wasn't rape? What if they loved each other?"

"He was a
bilaganna
. She was Dineh."

"I'm white. And you are Dineh," she argued softly.

"What we have is different," he insisted. His features were drawn taut beneath the bright red headband. "But even if that were the case, which it was not, leaving a woman with a child in her belly to die along some murderous trek is inexcusable."

"As wrong as that was, it was government policy," Noel said carefully. "Your father was not responsible."

"Planting a seed in a woman does not make a man a father. He was responsible for her death. If she'd been stronger, if she hadn't been carrying me, she would not have died."

"And you would not have been born."

He shrugged. "I cannot see that the world would have missed my presence."

Her eyes misted as she framed his face between her palms. "
I
would have missed your presence." She pressed a tender kiss against his firmly set lips. "Can't you see how the hatred of your father has come to color your life?"

"Should I forgive those soldiers who drove my people from their ancestral lands? Should I forgive them for all the Dineh who died during those years? Should I forgive those who make warriors stand in line like slaves for bug-ridden flour and rotten meat? Should I forgive my father for my mother's death?"

"You are not the only man to lose family," Noel told him gently.

"No. But I may be the only man who doesn't forget. As much as I love you, I cannot change who—and what—I am. I cannot trust the
bilaganna
."

"You can trust me."

Gradually, as her lips continued to pluck tantalizingly at his, Wolfe succumbed to temptation.

He drew her down onto his bedroll and, putting aside the unpalatable discussion, made long sweet love to her.

As they climbed high into Colorado's San Juan Mountains, growing emotionally closer with each mile, Wolfe and Noel were almost able to forget their dangerous situation. Noel knew that whatever happened after she'd cleared his name—she could not allow herself to think that she'd fail in this all-important mission to save Wolfe—she would always consider these long and uncomfortable days the happiest of her life. Because they'd been spent with the man she loved.

But even in this halcyon time, a shadow lurked on the horizon, one they tried desperately to ignore.

From their mountaintop vantage point, Silverton looked like a child's miniature village, the kind that usually had a toy train running through it. Riding the switchback trail down the mountain into the mining town, Noel felt a very strong sense of foreboding.

As she rode beside Wolfe down Blair Street, music from the dance halls drifted on the night air, mingling with the sound of laughter and the occasional sound of breaking furniture as fistfights broke out.

Wolfe pulled up at the back of The Irish Rose.

"Bret Starr's in here." Noel's voice trembled with excitement as she felt the hair at the back of her neck stand up. "I can feel him."

Her voice was not the only thing trembling. As he lifted her down from the back of the horse, Wolfe could feel the anticipation coursing through her veins.

"It is not enough simply to find the artist," he reminded her.

"I know." She kept her hands on his shoulders. "But if he was there when that cabin burned, and those people died—"

"There's still no reason to believe he'll be willing to come back to Whiskey River with us to testify for me. Or that anyone will believe him if he does."

"Don't worry." She went up on her toes and pressed her lips against his. "Everything's going to work out. I can feel it in my bones."

Despite his continued misgivings, Wolfe found it impossible to resist the hope shining in her wide blue gaze. He ran his hands up her back, rewarded when she began to tremble in a way that had nothing to do with her anticipation of meeting Bret Starr but everything to do with her love for him.

"And such exquisite bones they are," he said against her mouth.

The kiss was long and sweet and ended too soon for either of them.

The woman who opened the door was at least twenty years younger than Belle. And about fifty pounds lighter.

"I'd heard you escaped," she said, taking his hand and drawing him into the kitchen. Unlike the kitchen of the Road to Ruin, which had been lighted by gaslight, The Irish Rose was electrified, revealing the wealth to be made in this remote mining town. "But the word is that you've gone to Mexico."

"I thought of it. But something changed my mind."

His words drew her attention to Noel, who was still standing right inside the doorway. "I also heard about what you did," she said with a friendly smile. "That was some shooting. There's already a song about the lady in red who shot Blackjack. It's quite the rage."

"That's all I need," Noel said dryly. "They can play it at my hanging."

"Oh, no one's looking for you," the madam said quickly. "In the first place, Black Jack didn't die, more's the pity—"

"He didn't?" A cooling rush of relief flooded over Noel.

"No. Belle dressed his wound and although she tried to keep him at the Road to Ruin, to give you two plenty of time to make your getaway, he left the next morning in search of both of you. He came in on the train yesterday, as a matter of fact. I heard he's gone on to Ouray."

"I'm Rose." She held out a slender beringed hand to Noel. "But my friends call me Rosie."

"And I'm Noel."

"Nice accent. Is it real?"

"Yes."

The madam skimmed a quick, professional glance over Noel. "You're a little road-rumpled, honey. But a soak in a hot tub and a change of clothes will take care of that. So, how'd you like to work here?"

"She's not a whore," Wolfe said quickly.

Rose's shrewd eyes narrowed at his harsh tone. "I see."

Not wanting to waste time on lengthy explanations, Noel decided it was time to be direct. "We're here looking for a man—"

"Got plenty of those upstairs," Rose agreed easily.

"This man's an artist. Bret Starr?"

"Got him, too."

Noel shot Wolfe an I-told-you-so look. "May we talk with him?"

"Well, now, I suppose you can talk all you want. But Bret isn't going to be much use to you. He spent last night drowning in a bottle of whiskey, muttering about fires and Indians and lies."

"So he
was
there!" She grabbed Wolfe's arm. "We really need to talk with him. He can prove Wolfe's innocence."

"Much as I'd love to help with that, honey, the man wouldn't remember his own name right now. You'll have better luck if you allow him to sleep off all that whiskey."

"We don't have time for that!" Noel insisted.

"We've found him," Wolfe said. "He's not going anywhere. A few more hours isn't going to make that much difference. Especially if the posse thinks we're headed toward Mexico."

"It's dangerous," she insisted, knowing that waiting would be a mistake. "What if Black Jack returns from Ouray? What if he didn't really go there in the first place? What if the men who killed those settlers know about Bret Starr? What if we've walked into a trap?"

"You'll be safe here," Rose assured them. "I'll have my men stationed at both doors. And the bottom of the stairs."

"It's best we stay here," Wolfe said quietly. The same thoughts had all occurred to him during the ride from Canyon de Chelly. But it wasn't as if they had a great many choices.

"But the book," she reminded him. "Today's the day you're supposedly captured."

"What book?" Rose asked.

"It's nothing." Wolfe's smile belied his own concerns. He hadn't forgotten that chapter in
Rogues Across Time
. He just hadn't wanted to dwell on it. "Just a plot I'm working on for my new book."

He ran the back of his hand down the side of Noel's face in a gesture meant to reassure. "You weren't in the original story, either," he reminded her gently. "We're simply changing things. Everything will be all right."

Noel only wished she could believe that. But having come to know Wolfe well during these days together, she knew the futility of arguing.

"If you're sure—"

"I'm sure." He bent his head and brushed his lips against hers in a light kiss that promised more to come. "I'll take the horses to the livery, while you get settled in our room."

He handed her the saddlebags, then give her another kiss—a longer, deeper one that took her breath away. And then he was gone.

"I have a terrible feeling about this," Noel fretted.

"He'll be fine," Rose assured her. "In the meantime, why don't you pretty up for your fella? I'll have a maid bring some bathwater up to Wolfe's usual room and—"

"Wolfe has his own room?" Although she'd accepted the idea that Wolfe had not exactly lived the life of a monk before meeting her, this thought was admittedly disturbing.

"Well, hell, honey," the madam said, looking at Noel with surprise, "he
is
a man. With a man's needs, if you get my drift."

Noel murmured something vague that could have been an agreement. Or a curse.

"But, although Wolfe's no saint, most of the time he used the room for writing. He wrote
First Man, First Woman
here," she said.

"You're the Colorado Rose." Noel had wondered about that dedication.

"That's me." Rose grinned. "And before you start pulling hair, I promise you, honey, I have
never
slept with Wolfe. Oh, not that I haven't been tempted," she admitted as she led Noel up some back stairs. "But since I kinda like my heart in one piece, I have a rule against getting involved with men I could fall in love with."

"And Wolfe falls into that category?" Noel asked.

Rose shot her a knowing look over her shoulder. "I think you know the answer to that, honey."

Although Noel didn't answer, she knew that her unruly love was written across her face.

"He'll be all right," Rose said gently.

"He has to be," Noel said fervently.

Now, if only she could make herself believe Rose's reassuring words.

Wolfe was leaving the livery when he sensed something or someone behind him. His hand dropped to his holster, but before he could retrieve his Colt .45, he felt the barrel of a rifle against his spine.

"Don't move, Longwalker," the familiar voice growled. "Or I'll blow you to kingdom come."

11

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Something was terribly, horribly wrong.

Noel, who'd been pacing the floor of the room, rushed to the window just in time to see the group of armed men riding out of town. In the middle of the men she saw Wolfe, looking as grim as she'd ever seen him. Behind him rode Black Jack. And a man wearing the badge of a territorial marshal.

She flew out of the room and back down the stairs and was headed out the kitchen door, when Rose caught her by the arm.

"Where do you think you're going?"

"They've got Wolfe!"

"Aw, hell." Rosie shook her head. "That's a damn shame, honey. But you still haven't answered my question."

"I have to go help him."

"You may be a sure shot with that itty-bitty derringer of yours at three feet. But you want to tell me just how you intend to face down a posse?"

"I don't know, maybe I can cause a distraction, and allow him to get away—"

"Get shot in the back, you mean," Rose corrected. "You still don't get it, do you? Wolfe's an Indian. Most of those men would just as soon shoot him as look at him. You give them any excuse to do that, and you're signing his death warrant."

"You may have a point," Noel agreed reluctantly. "But I have to do something!" she said in a very uncharacteristic wail.

Rose cursed again. "Let's go wake up Sleeping Beauty," she suggested. "If we pour enough hot coffee down him, maybe he can help. Meanwhile, I'll send a boy to the jail to find out what that posse intends to do with Wolfe."

At first glance, Bret Starr certainly did not look like the answer to Noel's problems. His eyes, when she shook him awake, were as red-veined as a road map, his complexion, beneath at least a ten-day stubble, was the color of ashes, and she doubted that he'd bathed in the past month.

Reminding herself that he was her only hope, she began pouring Rose's robust coffee down him as she told her story.

"You saw the massacre, didn't you?"

"Didn't say that." His hands shook as he slowly, gingerly lifted the cup to his lips.

"It won't do you any good to lie. I know you were there. And I know you were so upset by what you witnessed, you ran away and came here and got drunk."