Wild Is the Night (14 page)

“So life’s not treatin’ you too bad.” Damien gestured to the cards, then grinned at Sam, his yellowed teeth clamped to the cigar like a blunt holder.

Sam glanced up, gave Damien a sharp look, then quietly folded his hand. “I don’t suppose you lads will object if I call it a night, now would you?”

The dealer glanced at the other players, who shook their heads. None of them wanted to tangle with Sam, in spite of the fact that he had most of their money.

“That’s very friendly of you all. I’ll be down later if any of you want to get even. Until then, the whiskey’s on me.”

The tight-lipped smiles loosened, then a cowboy shrugged and slapped Sam on the back. Haskwell gestured to Butch and Damien, then made his way through the crowd to a thick red curtain covering the entrance to the back room.

Inside, he waited for the two men to enter. Instantly, his Irish smile vanished, replaced by a cold sneer that couldn’t be mistaken for anything other than displeasure.

“What the hell are you two doing here? Didn’t I tell you not to meet me in public?”

“It was his idea,” Damien sputtered, indicating Butch. “We have news.”

“It had better be good news. I’ve had too many things go wrong the last few weeks. Did you take care of that little matter you were working on?”

Butch and Damien exchanged a glance. “No,” Damien replied. “We lost her.”

“What?” Sam rose from the chair he’d taken, his dark eyes blazing. He struggled to get his anger under control. “I hope this is a joke,” he said softly. “You’ll see I’m not in a funny mood.”

“Calm down,” Butch interjected. “She’s apt to die anyway. The girl’s got a gun with her. Luke something, they call him.”

“Now you listen to me.” Sam’s brogue thickened as he stared the two men down. “I don’t give a damn about a gun. I don’t care if the girl has fifty men helping her. I want her dead.”

“They’re on the trail,” Butch continued quietly. “They have no food, no supplies. They’ve been run out of town by the sheriff. Not only do they have the law on their backs, but they’ve scarce a horse or water.” Butch grinned. “They won’t make it to Newton at this rate.”

“Fools!” Sam spat, slamming his fist down on a table. “I could make it, and so could you! I’m not paying you to leave her death up to chance! That Fess Tyson woman witnessed me shooting Haines, then wrote about it for chrissakes. All she has to do is show up, and the prosecution would have a field day. I should have shot her in Boston when I had the opportunity, but that landlady stuck to her like glue. Now she’s been warned.” Sam’s eyes narrowed as he glared at Butch and Damien. “Get out of here and don’t come back until you can tell me she’s dead! I want proof that Amanda Edison no longer lives! Do you understand me?”

Damien’s head bobbed quickly. “Yes, boss. We’ll get her, don’t worry.”

“Good. I’m warning you both.” Sam looked from one man’s face to the next. “You return with another story like this one, and it’ll be your last.”

She was gone when he returned. Luke strode into her room, alarmed at the silence that greeted him. Everything else had gone smoothly. The bartender at the saloon assured him that a wagon train would be leaving in the morning, and that they were looking for additional passengers to share the cost. The timing couldn’t be better. Amanda would be out of town before the sheriff or Haskwell could catch up with her. If she was lucky, Haskwell would not be able to trace her—in which case, Amanda would be free. But where was she?

His breathing slowed as he saw her carpetbag and the bird cage. She must have decided to take a walk or go into town for supplies. Amanda would never leave Aesop for any length of time.

Sinking down into a padded rocking chair, Luke waited for her to return. The picture of her walking across that street earlier wouldn’t leave him. He wondered what she was thinking now—if she was crying, or perhaps, even relieved. Glancing impatiently around the room for some other clue as to her whereabouts, he noticed a crumbled paper in the fireplace.

Amanda was always writing something. Perhaps she’d left a note, then decided she was too angry to extend even this courtesy and threw it out. Luke reached toward the grate and removed the half-burned sheet, then spread the paper out on the table.

I don’t know what’s happening to me. He’s leaving—I see it in his eyes. Why does that tear at me, make my life seem meaningless? He’s a gunslinger, a cowboy without a name, a drifter. Yet when he holds me, touches me, his hands so rough and gentle at the same time, I lose myself in a hot vortex of desire I never knew existed. Am I better for this knowledge? When the feeling goes on, I think that I am, for everything around me takes on a new brilliance. I see the flowers of the plains—the red geranium, the crimson lupine, the rippling blue green grass—and I see beauty. I look past the undulating field to an endless horizon—blue sky meeting land. I cannot tell where one leaves off and the other begins. I feel as if I could fall into the heavens, become weightless, a creature of spirit instead of flesh. He has given that to me, in the moments when he is gentle and kind.

He held me last night and I could feel his anger. I do not know what I said to inflame him, but his hands burned where they touched me, more than the heated cloths he used to ease my suffering. It doesn’t matter. I want him. My head is filled with the sound of my blood rushing through my veins, my skin is as sensitive as a newborn’s, my mouth is alive, wetly anticipating his kiss. I want to draw him inside me, let him ease the ache he’s created, yet I know I cannot. I

He couldn’t read the rest. Stunned, Luke let the paper crumble between his fingers, the charred ashes returning to what they were meant to be. He felt as if he had peered into the recesses of Amanda’s innermost thoughts, and found them astounding.

That she could write like that…

Passion inflamed every word. And not the rose-colored feeling most Victorian women described, if they did at all. No, Amanda wrote of sexual desire—of physical love between a man and a woman.

He’s leaving. Why does that tear at me?

He closed his eyes. It was all so easy until Amanda came along. Amanda with her owl, her wall of quotations, her strange ocean eyes that would tear the soul out of a gentler man. If he had half a brain, he’d get on the first train and ride out of here. He’d pursue Haskwell on his own, then maybe settle down in the South somewhere, with a sweet belle who was as complex as rice pudding….

It doesn’t matter. I want him.

He could still feel the smooth paper clinging to his fingers, and the soft sensation of ash rubbing against his callouses.

You’re right, Amanda,
he thought.
It really doesn’t matter. Not now.

Chapter
  
9
  

“Oh, it’s you.” Amanda entered the hotel room and closed the door. She gave Luke an icy stare. “I thought you’d be gone by now.”

Luke shook his head. “Not at all. I have no intention of going anywhere. Where have you been? I was beginning to get worried.”

“You were concerned about me?” Amanda gaped at him incredulously. “Why?”

Luke fought the rising irritation he felt. “I was worried because you were gone so long. I believe that’s why you hired me, isn’t it? To protect you?”

“I thought that was over.” Amanda’s nose wrinkled and her eyes widened behind her glasses, revealing her concentration. “You broke our agreement, and you intended to leave. As Carlyle once said—”

“Amanda.” Luke gritted his teeth. “I brought you something. Don’t you want to open it?”

Amanda’s eyes went from the gunslinger to the bed. She noticed for the first time a package wrapped in brown paper and tied with twine. Fingering the parcel, she glanced back at Luke.

“You bought me a present?” When he nodded his head in affirmation, she continued thoughtfully. “I’d like to know why you did this.” She indicated the package. “And why you are here. And why you are looking at me like that.”

The smile Luke returned was one she hadn’t seen in days. It was warm and wonderful, as if he could see right inside of her, to all those secrets she kept hidden. Feeling like a trapped hare, Amanda toyed with the string. She had to fight the impulse to run.

“Amanda, Amanda. When are you going to stop this? Open it,” Luke said.

Unable to figure it all out, Amanda decided to think later, without his distracting presence. She turned her attention to the gift, and had to admit that she was dying of curiosity. Slowly unwrapping the twine, she couldn’t hide her delight. No one ever bought her a present. Her parents contributed to her school, saw that she had enough pocket money for books and supplies, but they never thought to give her a gift. Now, with the crude brown paper crackling in her hands, she couldn’t stop herself from shaking or the silly grin from spreading over her face.

It vanished a moment later, replaced by awe as she pulled out a beautiful indigo-blue gown. Beneath the gown was a new corset and chemise. Made of first quality plush, the dress boasted a French-lace collar and cuffs, and pearl buttons that marched down the back like a troop of Yankee soldiers. A bustle gathered in the rear to emphasize a woman’s hips. Amanda touched the material, rubbing the rough lace between her fingers, overwhelmed by the dress and by the man who had given it to her.

“Do you like it?” Luke chuckled. “I looked all over this damned town before I could find what I wanted. Thank God one of the matrons took pity on me and helped me explain to the dressmaker what size you are.”

“But…” Amanda couldn’t take her eyes off the gown. “Don’t such garments take weeks to make?”

“Usually.” Luke agreed, pleased by her reaction. “But in this case, I was lucky. The gown was made for a girl from back east. By the time she actually arrived here, she had gained thirteen pounds and the dress no longer fit.”

“I’m sorry.” Amanda looked up, then smiled foolishly. “I mean, I’m sorry for her. She must have been heartbroken to lose such a pretty dress.” She reverently folded the sleeve, then tucked the garment back inside the wrapping. “Too bad I can’t accept this.”

“What do you mean?” Luke asked, exasperated.

“’A lady can only accept candy and flowers. And those, preferably, from her affianced.'”

“Don’t tell me who said that—”

“Elizabeth Hall, my etiquette instructor.” Amanda smiled. She looked at Luke, and her expression was unguarded—full of warmth and girlish laughter. “Although I often thought some of those rules unfair and pretentious, I suppose it has served some good, putting strict requirements on our mating practices. In this case it serves more as a hindrance.”

“Then you think of presents as foreplay?” Luke couldn’t believe his ears.

“Certainly,” Amanda said, the crispness back in her voice. “I mean, think about it. All other species have mating practices, and they’re not so different than ours. Male birds preen and puff their feathers, then engage in a sexual dance designed to arouse the female of the species. Male cichlids actually enfold the female fish into an embrace, then together they fertilize the eggs. And a male gambusino, a live-bearing fish, splays his fins to get the female’s attention then he inserts his anal fin into the female—”

“I get the idea,” Luke groaned. He tried another approach. “Amanda, the gown is paid for. I’m sure the dressmaker won’t take it back at this point, especially since the original owner had to have another wardrobe constructed. If you really feel that badly about it, we’ll work it out when we get to Texas. Maybe come up with another agreement.”