Wild Is the Night (46 page)

The whiskey bottle was already diminished by one quarter as Luke refilled his glass, pouring slowly and steadily. He could hear the flow of conversation around him about the outlaw and a dark-haired showgirl named Honey who had quietly waited for the sheriff to arrive, then giggled outrageously when they carried out the bleeding body of Sam Haskwell. Honey was with the doctor now, being treated for shock, and Haskwell was covered with a sheet on the front desk in the sheriff’s office.

Damn!
Luke pounded his fist on the bar, ignored by the men around him. Haskwell was dead, he was glad about that. But he hadn’t gotten the satisfaction of killing the man himself. All these years he’d waited until the right opportunity, followed the slug from Virginia to Dodge City, Abilene, and now Texas, only to have to let him go.

He’d hadn’t any other choice. Haskwell would have killed Amanda with no more compunction than stepping on an ant. He couldn’t have let Amanda die, yet the frustration ate at him like a bitter acid. The killer of his mother and sister lay less than fifteen feet from where he sat….

God, how he missed them. For the first time since their deaths, he allowed himself to grieve. He poured over the thousand memories buried in his mind like a living binder of photographs. Suzette, laughing at him when he tried to jump the gate with the old walker. Suzette teasing him when he was sixteen, slicking back his hair for a dance, shredding his adolescent conceit. Suzette as a little girl, trustingly putting her hand inside his coat pocket for warmth and obediently following him to school, knowing that her big brother would always take care of her.

He removed the locket from the chain around his neck, heating the metal within his fingers, and he opened it once more. The calm, sweet face of his mother stared out at him, framed in silver. Somehow he knew that she would have loved Amanda, would have whole-heartedly approved of his decision not to waste another human life over something as petty as revenge. Tears came to his eyes, and he viciously blinked them back as he pictured his mother meeting his wife—a scene that would never happen. But Amanda, with her theories and book learning, her skewed way of seeing the world, would have fascinated Lillian Parker and would have reassured Suzette, who always thought women came too easy for him.

And now Amanda was gone too. Luke snapped the locket shut. He’d cut his wife to the quick. She’d never forgive him for attacking her in the most personal, private way he could—through her books. Now that the initial shock had passed, he could recall some of it, and once more found it wonderful. The first love scene made him see red, but the second and the rest were beautiful—flowing with all the passion of a woman in love. Amanda wrote without Victorian sentimentality, but her work was so much more powerful as a result. Every line glimmered with longing, and if he only hadn’t overreacted, he might have been able to turn that longing into reality.

“…and then he touched me, and every cell in my body cried out for him. Colors began in my mind, bright webs of gold, scarlet, and amethyst, tangling up my thoughts, making me aware that nothing really mattered but him…”

Luke drank down the harsh whiskey.
No, nothing really matters now, Amanda. Nothing at all.

Saturday was the night of the Woman’s Committee Christmas Ball. Everyone was going, from the mayor to the
vaqueros.
The Woman’s Committee had decided on red and green, and had spent the week in a fervor, making sure that the Lone Star Hotel had enough wine, food, and music to ensure the evening’s success.

Amanda stood in front of the mirror, eyeing herself critically. Although she dreaded going, she knew she didn’t have a choice. With every day that passed, she and Luke grew farther apart. She hadn’t seen him since that horrible night when Haskwell had tried to kill her, but she knew that instead of making the heart grow fonder, distance was solidifying the end of their relationship. That night in the parlor he’d shown her what she meant to him. She had to act now, while the feeling was still strong.

“Amanda, are you sure you want to do this?” Aileen pulled the laces tighter, while Amanda sucked in her breath. The corset shaped her figure to a perfect hourglass, making her body more womanly. Her legs, encased in shimmering black silk stockings, were held up with black lace garters trimmed in red, while a glossy red plume danced from her head like a fiery lance.

“I don’t have any other choice. Luke won’t answer the messages I’ve sent him, and he’s conveniently absent whenever I go to the hotel. This is my last chance.” Amanda gasped for breath, but the corset was made of whalebone and would not give. Accepting the gown that Aileen handed to her, she slipped it over her head, tugging it into place as it settled slickly around her body. “It’s perfect. Where did you get it?”

“Lacey’s,” Aileen said. “She was making it for a saloon girl.”

“Are you sure this is all there is?” Amanda tried to pull up the gown in front, but the dress settled obstinately back into place, revealing a generous quantity of skin.

“That’s it,” Aileen said dryly. “You’re a little more well-endowed than the saloon girl.”

Amanda stared back at the mirror, unable to believe that the reflection was her own. The dress she wore was scarlet, and not a subdued shade at that. Dipping shockingly low in the front, the satin gown was gathered into a full bustle in the back, then pulled up on the side to reveal a shapely leg. Red rouge dotted her cheekbones, looking stark and out of place on Amanda’s naturally pretty complexion, and black kohl rimmed her eyes. She looked seductive, enticing, and experienced—like a high-priced harlot.

“It’s perfect,” Amanda said happily. “When Luke sees this, he’ll forget all about being angry with me.”

“But do you really think he’ll want to see his wife wearing this, at the party in front of everyone?” Aileen asked doubtfully. “He seems on the conservative side.”

“He won’t believe his eyes,” Amanda sighed. “I’ve given it a lot of thought, and done my research.” She indicated a thick pad of scrawled notes. “Every time I’ve gone to a new town or a saloon, I’ve observed the way men behave in the presence of a woman dressed like this. Men are completely visual, you know. They are aroused by what they see, unlike women who are aroused in more complex ways. Therefore, if I dress the same way and act the same way, I’ll seduce him into coming back!”

She looked as pleased as a child who had handed in a brilliant science project. She tried to turn, and nearly fell as the dress wrapped its silken length around her legs. Her feet, bound in little gold slippers, tripped on the polished floor. Aileen held her breath as Amanda’s full breasts nearly spilled out and her plume wobbled precariously. The dubious expression on Aileen’s face increased, especially when Amanda hiked up the gown and maintained her balance with the help of a chair.

“I don’t know.” Aileen tried another approach. “I thought you didn’t approve of dressing up in corsets and such.”

“I still don’t believe in that,” Amanda said confidently. “But I don’t have any choice right now. I’ve got to get his attention and time is running out.” She picked up a gold-beaded bag that matched her slippers, and stopped only long enough to smear bright red lipstick on her full little mouth with an obviously unpracticed hand. “Let’s go. I can’t wait to see his face.”

Aileen nodded. It was true—when she worked in a saloon, the men went wild for this stuff. But somehow, Amanda would never pass for a saloon girl, Aileen thought. She followed her out the door, cringing as the author tripped over the hemline of her tight gown.

The ballroom was filled with elegantly dressed men and beautifully gowned women. They moved beneath the crystal chandeliers like animated Christmas ornaments in vivid hues of crimson, emerald, and sapphire. Mrs. Mitchell had won the argument about the colors, and the entire ballroom was bedecked with festive green and red satin ribbons and streamers. Violinists quietly warmed up in the corner, while waiters carried trays of champagne, handing tulip-shaped glasses of the golden liquid to anyone who cared to drink.

Amanda entered the room with Jake and Aileen, keeping her coat on and bracing herself for a wave of cold animosity. To her surprise, Jed Brannigan strode up, his face beaming.

“Amanda Parker! So glad you could come. I was just asking Elvira about you the other day.” His expression changed to puzzlement as he saw her made-up face, but he resumed his smile.

Amanda glanced at Aileen, but the Irish woman shrugged. “I thought you were all angry with me,” Amanda said.

“Oh, maybe a little at first.” Jed chuckled, then was joined by several of the other townspeople. He lifted glasses of champagne from the tray and handed them to Aileen and Jake, while Amanda declined. “But we’ve gotten used to it. In fact, your little book seems to be spelling quite a profit for Waco. Newcomers have been flooding in during the last few weeks, increasing business across the board, and it can only get better. Everyone’s talking about how you eluded Sam Haskwell, and how he finally got his. The woman got off, you know. Yes, it looks like you’ve put Waco on the map.”

Amanda stared in disbelief, but Simon Ledden extended his hand and pumped hers heartily. Frank Mitchell nodded to her. Mrs. Meade detached herself from a crowd of people and rushed to join them.

“There you are, Amanda. You must come and meet everyone. Several new ladies want to join the Woman’s Committee, and they’ve heard all about you. I told them about the corset burning, and they are captivated. Eastern, you know.” Mrs. Meade puffed with an air of knowledge and dragged Amanda off toward the women.

Amanda held onto the collar of her coat, keeping it firmly closed, not wanting to reveal the dress until she saw Luke. Everywhere she looked she saw smiling faces. People that wouldn’t walk the same side of the street as her a week ago were now coming up and shaking her hand as if she were a long-lost friend. It was all like a dream, one that took way too long in coming.

She was standing with several of the cowhands when she saw him. Her water glass was paused halfway to her lips and she froze when she observed him handing the servant his overcoat. He looked breathtakingly handsome, his white shirt like the purest snow against the raven black of his coat. His hair glistened in the gaslight, shining blue-black, while his muscular body moved with an animal-like grace that was apparent in spite of his dress clothes. He turned to someone behind him, and Amanda’s stomach lurched as she saw a woman enter, laugh lightly at something he said, and then obligingly take his arm.

He wasn’t alone. He’d brought someone with him. Her heart pounding in her ear, Amanda felt a wash of overwhelming, sickening jealousy. She recognized the woman as the daughter of the dressmaker, Sally Lacey, a gorgeous blond who cared very little about science, politics, or penny dreadfuls. Sally was dressed in a gorgeous turquoise gown, and she could dance beautifully, flirt outrageously, and sing sweetly. In short, she was everything Amanda was not.

“Are you all right, senora?” one of the
vaqueros
questioned and Amanda nodded quickly, feeling the color drain from her face.

“Yes, fine. Rafael, would you mind taking my coat?” She turned a brilliant smile on him and the cowhand nodded eagerly, accepting the woolen wrap. When he saw what lay beneath it, he gave a loud wolf whistle.

“Muy bonita,
senora! What a dress! Miguel and Tomas, did you see this?”

The cowhands began cheering and clapping, while Amanda smiled, gratified. It was working. It really
was
easy, like addition, she thought. All one had to do was know how to calculate, and one could figure out just about anything with men.

Smiling, she accepted a finger sandwich, then giggled outrageously at a joke the cowboys made. She remembered everything she’d ever written about saloon girls and showgirls, and she practised it shamelessly. It was ridiculous, but all she had to do was look wide-eyed and laugh at everything they said, and she was a success.

“Would you like some punch, senora?” Raphael offered.

Amanda glanced across the room and saw Luke talking with the mayor and several other men, with Sally draped on his arm. Jealousy ripped through her, but she managed to decline politely. “No, I’ll get it if you don’t mind.” She wobbled across the room, fighting her dress, the corset, and the slippers.

Being a seductress wasn’t as easy as she thought. Amanda noticed the sudden silence of the townsmen around her, the inappropriate stares, and the appraising looks they gave her, as if she was a horse at auction. Several grinned in frank invitation, their eyes dropping to her bustline that seemed to hold up the tiny slip of red satin as if by magic. In spite of the outlandish outfit, she looked beautiful, and every man let her know it with his eyes.

The women were less kind. They stared in disbelief as the prim and talented authoress paraded before them in garb a showgirl would blush to wear, and they whispered among themselves. The dress swished obligingly, revealing Amanda’s black-stockinged leg, and Elvira dashed down a glass of champagne.

“Dear God, what is she up to now?”

Frank Mitchell heard the whispers, then nudged Luke, who was standing beside him.

“I think you’d better see to your wife.”

Luke turned quickly, then stared in shock as Amanda accepted a glass of punch from the waiter, then giggled ridiculously as Simon Ledden fought to hand it to her first. Cowboys vied for her attention, each one claiming the first dance, while the townsmen, recovering from their surprise, tried to free themselves of their more proper guests to stand by her side. The feather slipped from her head as she laughed at a joke she couldn’t possibly understand, and when she reached up to adjust it, a dozen male eyes went to her breasts.