My Desperado (4 page)

"You might have guessed I ain't the kind of man who does something for nothing," he said quietly, not moving.

Katherine grasped her frazzled braid in a clammy fist, a nervous habit from childhood. "What do you want from me?"

Travis smiled. She had the throaty voice of a born seductress, but her eyes were wide with innocence. Stepping nearer, he noticed how each lace of her nightshift had remained tied, making it seem as if she'd done nothing more than step out for a breath of fresh air. Her braid, however, was coming loose, fraying away from confinement as if in testimony to the ordeal she'd come through. He noticed the set of her shoulders, her stiff stance, and passed her by to circle behind.

There was a light breeze blowing out of the east, and it flattened the woman's nightgown against her tidy body, outlining it perfectly. She had a sweet little bottom, Travis thought with a mental sigh of longing, knowing, no matter what she said, that she was out of his reach. "What can you give me?" he asked, nevertheless.

Katherine's mind spun. "I don't have any money with me," she whispered.

Ryland shrugged. "Bartering's a time-honored tradition in these parts."

It took her several seconds to realize his implied meaning. He was referring to personal favors, she thought in fresh panic. She didn't... She wouldn't... Well, she just couldn't! Could she?

But her choices were so few and very unfavorable. "I could..." she began, but found she didn't even know the right words to say.

"You know, lady," Travis said, stepping casually before her again, "most doves I've known have been real bold talkers. Have you always been so tongue-tied?"

"I'm not tongue-tied," Katherine denied, offended. "My diction is exemplary."

He was silent for a moment, then, "Right. What's your offer?"

"A kiss!" she spat out before it could catch on her tongue.

He laughed. "A kiss?"

"Yes."

Her mother would simply die if she knew what her daughter had come to, but her mother wouldn't be particularly pleased to learn Katherine Amelia had been hanged for murder either. "But just one..." She held up a singular finger.

"A kiss?" he repeated, and shook his head as if unable to believe he'd heard properly.

Have I been too forward? Katherine wondered dismally. Had she shocked him? "I've got no money," she whispered.

The street was as silent as death.

"Is it a deal?" Katherine breathed, feeling all her blood had drained to her feet.

"It'll depend on the kiss."

"No!" she said, knowing she couldn't kiss worth a hoot, for in truth, she'd never tried, and did not wish to be hanged for lack of ability in that arena. "You have to agree first."

He tilted his head sharply. "It seems to me I got the upper hand in this bartering business, lady. You'll have to kiss first. I'll decide if it's worthy."

She had no choice, Katherine thought dizzily. She'd have to go through with it.

The distance between them seemed the longest she'd ever traveled. Her knees felt weak, her head light, and when she reached him, he seemed to tower above her like a mountain.

She hesitated for a moment, and then, using every ounce of willpower she possessed, she rose to her toes, brushed her lips to his cheek, and jumped back.

Travis Ryland remained perfectly still. Katherine waited, breath held.

And then he laughed, the sound floating out in rich, deep timbre from the massive breadth of his chest.

"What are you laughing at?" Katherine scowled, knowing he was making fun of her and worrying what the consequences of a bad kiss would be. "What's so funny?"

"Nothing," he said, unable to control his chuckles.

Her scowl deepened, and she placed her fists on her hips, thinking him quite rude, even for an outlaw. “Then is the bargain met?"

"Lady..." He chuckled again, lifting a hand and seeming to wipe at his eyes. "If your worst crime was spreading gossip about the preacher's wife, I might consider that little chicken peck enough to buy my silence." He shook his head, finally attempting to still his laughter. "But the mayor was... Well he was loved to death, and I'm afraid you ain't got what it takes to keep me quiet about that."

"Well!" Why she was so offended Katherine wasn't certain, but apparently this oversized lout was insulting her feminine appeal—something she'd spent very little time worrying about in the past. "So you think I can't kiss?"

"No," he said quickly, lifting a hand as it to ward off any zealous advances. "It's just that I thought old George was overstimulated. But now I see he died of boredom."

Katherine narrowed her eyes and ground her teeth. Died of boredom, indeed! How dare he! She'd give him a kiss that would fuse his boots to his feet.

"Hang on to your hat," she growled, and stepped forward again.

Lightning struck her lips as they touched his. A trail of flame sizzled down her neck, crackling along her arms to burn at her fingertips. His hands had somehow settled around her waist, heating her body with inexplicable fire as his lips moved across hers.

He smelled of wide open places and leather. His tongue touched her lips, and suddenly her mouth was open, too, allowing her own tongue to taste him in heated, first-time exploration.

Her head swam. The world shifted, and she lifted her hands, steadying herself against his chest.

His beard tickled her chin, and his hands moved upward slightly, blazing a trail up her back as he pulled her closer.

For the first time in her life Katherine was fully alive, each fiber of her body alert, every nerve vibrating with awareness. So this was a kiss! Her tongue touched his again, shocking her with a new jolt of sizzling excitement. So this was why George was smiling.

George! The memory of him blasted through to Katherine's brain. The mayor! She drew away, pushing on Travis's chest with trembling hands and trying to remember her mission.

"Well?" she asked foggily.

He was absolutely quiet for a moment, then, "Any other sins you'd like me to keep quiet about?" he asked, his voice hoarse.

"No." She shook her head slowly, her lips parted and burning. "This is my first."

"Lucky George."

"He's dead."

"It might be worth it."

She blinked at him, not comprehending his words.

"See that grove of trees?" Travis asked, not raising his eyes from hers. "I want you to take Soldier in there with you. Wait ten minutes. If I don't come out, you get on Soldier and you ride back to wherever it is you came from."

"But I can't go back to The Watering Hole."

"Lady!" His fingers tightened against her back. "I ain't talking about the saloon. You ride east till you can't even remember Colorado in your dreams."

"But what about—"

He shook her slightly, stopping her words. "Promise me!"

"But what about you? What are you doing to do?"

"I swear to you, lady, if you don't hightail it, I'll make them damn rumors come true and haunt you for eternity."

Her mouth fell open as she realized the implication of his words. Not only was he expecting trouble, he was expecting big trouble. "But I can't ride," she whispered.

"You can't ride?" He glowered into her face. "Then what the hell are you doing in this kind of country?"

Tears formed without warning and she sniffed. "I inherited—"

"Don't!" He changed his mind about hearing her explanation and held a hard palm toward her. "Don't tell me. Just remember. Ten minutes. If I'm not out—head east." He stepped back. "And..." His voice dropped a notch. 'Take care of old Soldier."

Panic tasted bitter. "You'll be back."

His ribs ached. "Promise me."

She hesitated wondering which way was east then nodded.

He was gone in a moment, swallowed by the darkness.

Within the quiet copse, the horse nibbled at nearby leaves as Katherine fidgeted. Five minutes passed, then ten. Katherine tightened her grip on the reins, glancing at the big animal. Ryland would be back. She was sure of it. What could happen? He was innocent of George's death.

She waited as ten more minutes dragged by. Her heart cramped within her chest. A long gun lay nestled in its leather case near the back of Ryland's saddle. How far could that gun shoot? Which way was east? And if she called for help, who would come? Daisy had said Silver Ridge had lost its sheriff.

A clatter of hooves sounded. Katherine spun about in her leafy enclosure but could see nothing through the foliage.

"Mr. Grey!" The words split the night as running footsteps thundered toward the house. "Mr. Grey! George's been killed. Stabbed—clean through the heart."

Chapter 4

Travis's first conscious thought was that his hands were tied behind him. He was laying facedown on a hard, cool surface, and when he tried to move, his skull protested with loud clanking throbs that sent pain echoing through his entire being.

He lifted his head, nevertheless, and the pain increased. He closed his eyes to the ache and found the room was no darker with them shut, which had to mean there was no window nearby.

Pieces of memory floated through his mind like milkweed seeds in the wind, with none of them settling long enough for him to grasp a firm hold. Rolling over slowly and pushing himself to a sitting position, Travis tried to concentrate.

The woman! Her shadowed face appeared to him through a haze of pain and darkness. The girl with the soiled dove's voice and the lady's speech. He'd kissed her. Where was he? Facts filtered back quickly now, slamming into his stunned brain with painful impatience.

He'd entered Grey's house, had spoken hardly a word—then darkness. His revolvers were gone. He must have been dragged into this room. How long had he been unconscious? Had the woman fled? Had she taken Soldier? She didn't seem like the kind to take orders well. What if she had stayed? How was she connected to Patterson's death? Why was he tied?

Questions crowded in, increasing the ache in his head, but the only answers he could imagine were horrid and immobilizing. So he shoved the thoughts from his mind and rose unsteadily to his feet. The room swam. His ribs ached.

Turning carefully, he searched for a way to escape. Off to his right there was a faint line of light that seemed to outline the bottom of a door. He stumbled toward it trying to be quiet, but the sounds of his own footsteps seemed to clatter loudly in his ears.

Reaching the portal, he leaned against it for a moment, listening. Travis could hear voices, but couldn't discern the words or guess who spoke them.

Perhaps he should just wait. For a moment weakness overtook him, and his knees buckled, threatening to spill him to the floor.

But he willed his legs to hold him steady. Whoever had trussed him up like a Thanksgiving goose was not planning a pleasant Sunday social, and he needed to escape immediately. Clumsily turning his back to the door, he tested the latch. It refused to move beneath his numbed fingers, and he silently swore. It was locked and his hands were tied, literally and figuratively.

First things first. Free his hands, then contemplate his next move. Straightening, Travis tested his legs again. They were a bit steadier now, his steps more true. He walked carefully back in the direction from which he'd come.

It was like blindman's bluff with no hands to feel his way and a splintering ache in his head. His boots tread on something softer now. A rug. He slowed his steps even more. His thigh thumped against the hard edge of something and he turned. There was little enough mobility in his arms, but he stretched them as far back as he could, feeling along the surface of what he figured to be a desk.

Papers. Several books. An inkwell and...

His hands brushed something hard and cool. He felt it topple and jerked to catch it, but he was too slow and it crashed to the floor.

Travis sucked air through his teeth and waited. Surely the noise would alert someone, but no footsteps came, and he realized in a moment that the object's fall had been blessedly muffled by the carpet.

Kneeling with some difficulty, he skimmed the floor with his fingertips.

The broken globe of the lamp sliced the pad of his right index finger before he had time to ascertain what the object was. He drew his hands away, stifled a curse, and realized in a moment that this was the answer to his most pressing problem. Finding the curved glass, he steadied a large broken piece beneath the heel of one boot and thrust his hands over the shard. It cut his wrist immediately, but he ignored the wound and shifted his position.

Hemp scraped against jagged glass. Back and forth. Back and forth. He could hear voices again and wondered if they were getting nearer. Travis sawed faster, hoping he was making progress.

A shout sounded from outside. He pushed harder against the glass. It broke and he swore, aloud this time. He winced, waiting a moment.

From somewhere in the house a door swung open, allowing the harsh swell of many voices to reach him. Travis hurriedly shifted his weight, settling his heel against a smaller piece of glass and sawing with increased speed.

Something was afoot. Something that boded ill for his continued survival. He could tell by the cramping ache in his ribs.

"Dead?"

That one word sounded loud and clear as day. Ryland gritted his teeth, knowing what this meant. Patterson had been discovered and the townspeople had arrived. But why? Wouldn't they assume the mayor had died from a fall?

He needed more time. Just a bit more, but footsteps were coming toward him. Travis shifted again, pushing the lamp away, hoping it was hidden below the desk. Falling to his side, he lay still and closed his eyes.

A key turned in the lock. The door was thrust open.

"But please, my good people. He deserves a fair trial."

“Trial! The money's gone and George is dead!"

Travis opened his eyes to the glaring light and blinked. He had no need to see the faces that crowded around the upheld lamp. He'd seen lynch mobs before.

"We're just lucky Red here apprehended him before he got out of town." The speaker had a walrus moustache and narrow eyes. "What'd you do with the money?"