Branded (33 page)

Good old Grady always trying hard to be the decent son. Escorting Dora to church should earn him some points, Slade thought and then wondered why he cared. Grady stopped on the steps to have a conversation with the reverend, most likely, making wedding plans. Now Slade was making himself sick. He shoved the plate away.

"Another one, Slade?"

"No thanks, Lulu. I've lost my appetite."

Coming out of the dark brothel, Slade squinted into the sunlight. He headed to the livery stable to get his horse. A fast-paced ride outside of the town limits would do them both good.

# # #

The ride had done nothing to alleviate the gnawing ache in his gut. He rubbed the back of his neck as he climbed the stairs to his room. "Now what?" he muttered to himself. He sensed, he had an unwanted visitor long before he opened the door. He entered with his gun drawn. The small, hazy window provided very little natural light, but Slade could see the outline of the intruder reclining on his bed.

He closed the door, shutting out even more of the light. He tossed his Stetson on the chair. "Carolina."

"Slade Dalton, what took you so long?"

He walked to the window and searched the street below.

"Needn't worry, Slade. He's asleep on the living room sofa by now. That's his Sunday routine. Goes to church, stuffs his belly with supper, and drinks until he's passed out cold. He won't wake until Monday."

Slade hitched his hip on the window ledge. "To what do I owe this honor, Mrs. Talbot?"

"I've missed you, Slade. This place hasn't been the same without you." She pushed herself off the bed and walked toward him. She was still wearing the dress she'd worn to church only she'd undone the lacings of the tight bodice. The thin chemise did little to hide her nipples. She put her hands on his thighs and leaned in close.

In the traces of sunlight, he could see she was still an enticing woman with full lips and wide eyes. But there were now tiny lines around her eyes and a few strands of silver in her hair.

"Why don't you kiss me, Slade?"

"Why don't you head home, Carolina?"

His suggestion did not deter her. She moved in closer, her mouth mere inches from his now.

"Oh, come on, Slade. You can't still be pining over that little hussy your brother's marrying?"

He stared at her wondering how even Carolina knew of his feelings for Lacey.

"I couldn't believe the way you gazed at her, that day, in Gertie's shop. Every woman dreams of having a man look at her like that. Too bad she belongs to your brother." She inched her hand up his thigh. "I could help you forget her. You and I could have fun again."

He gave her a hard look. "Why don't you go find some young boy to seduce. I think, I'm a mite old for your taste."

She went to slap him, but he caught her wrist. She glared at him. Any traces of beauty were now gone. He was looking at a bitter woman.

Yanking free of his grasp, she shrieked, "Your brother Grady was right. You are nothing but a two-bit loser."

"Grady? What the devil does he have to do with this visit?"

She set her lips in a stubborn line and began hastily tying up her lacings.

"He put you up to this, didn't he?"

She gave an exaggerated shake of her head.

"How much did Grady pay you to set me up?"

"A lot more than you are worth, Slade Dalton. I guess, you could say that he's willing to pay any amount to get you out of town. Seems you can't be trusted around other men's women." She laughed at her own remark.

"There is only one man's woman I can't be trusted around, and you sure as hell ain't her."

She nearly fell down the rickety stairs in her haste to get away.

Tait had spent the morning persuading Lacey to go to town with him. She'd left without asking Grady's permission. She was sure she'd face his wrath when she returned.

Once in town, she had the undeniable need to see Slade. Even if it meant going to the gaming hall. She'd told Tait she was curious to see what it was like. But Tait had known what she'd really wanted and taken her reluctantly. Now that she stood in the midst of the noise and smoke with Tait fidgeting nervously by her side, she wished she'd left the poor boy alone.

Her eyes swept the hall and lit on him immediately. If she were to take a few strides, she'd be near enough to touch him. His eyes shifted in her direction. She looked away quickly, unable to bear his fierce stare. Her eyes flitted to the men sitting around him at the table. They were not cowboys out to lose a few coins and share a bottle. These were professional gamblers. They weren't enjoying themselves. They were working.

One, in particular, had a ruthless expression. His black hair was slicked back severely from his face, and his skin was of such pallor, Lacey was sure he never ventured outside the hall. His gaze continually scanned the faces of his fellow gamers.

The man's hard glittery eyes seemed to linger the longest on Slade.

Slade was still watching her with an intensity that made her heart race. He appeared to be winning. An imposing stack of chips sat in front of him.

He'd grown a mustache. It was golden like the highlights the sun threaded through his hair. A woman stood behind him, her hand resting on the back of his chair. A redhead with a great deal of paint on her face.

"Don't count on him walking away from that game. They're playing deep. If he leaves now with all those winnings, they're liable to shoot him in the back," Tait told her in a hushed confidential tone.

"I'm not counting on anything," she said. "I think we should leave." Seeing him in this dark, grim place broke her heart.

Slade gave the slightest gesture with his hand, which Tait took for a summons. He took her arm and pulled her toward the table.

"Hold off on the deal, Clifton," Slade said.

The man tipped up the brim of his slouch hat and eyed them coldly. Clearly, he did not like his game interrupted.

"Wrong part of town, again," Slade addressed Tait but his eyes were riveted to Lacey. "Hello, darlin'," he drawled. "Taking up visiting gaming halls again, Duchess? I don't suppose this one compares to the one in England." She couldn't even manage a smile. The man had altered completely. He was as hard as the men he sat with.

Tait was tugging on her sleeve. "We'll see you later, Slade."

"Giselle, you know some French, don't you?" Slade asked suddenly before they'd taken a step.

"Certainement."

"Want to repeat what you said to me, darlin'?" he asked Lacey. It took her only a moment to realize what he was talking about. She could feel her cheeks flame with color. "No?" He gave his shaggy head a sorrowful shake. "Too shy? I think, I remember well enough."

Well enough? Though it had been weeks since she shared his bed Slade recited every passionate word she'd said, verbatim.

Lacey made a move to leave, and Slade grabbed her wrist, holding her fast. The woman leaned over him pressing her breasts against his shoulder. His eyes were shuttered but beneath the long lashes, she could see the pale blue of his eyes sliding in her direction. He smoothed his mustache with his fingers, as he listened. A few of the words the woman whispered carried to her ... harder, deeper, and faster. They were erotic words, not the words of love she'd uttered. The woman straightened and gave her a sly smile. She massaged Slade's shoulder, her brightly painted fingernails, a garish contrast to his stark black suit.

Gamblers, Lacey had been told, live in an insular world never noticing anything but their cards and chips while at the table. Wrong, she thought, as she looked from one leering face to the other. With horror, she found Slade staring at her as though she were more a whore than the woman behind him. She wrenched her arm free and shot him a disdainful look. Slade leaned back, balancing on the back legs of his chair, his cold gaze gliding over her with complete insolence. What she would give to have the courage to push him over. She would have thoroughly enjoyed the spectacle of him flat on his back covered in cards and whiskey.

"That one looks like she costs a pretty penny. Buy me a drink and, voila, I'm yours for the evening," the woman said.

Lacey turned on her heels and walked toward the bar. She could hear the saloon girl's purring voice. "I'll give it to you anyway you like it, Cowboy. And if you've got a preference for things French, I can do that too."

Lacey tugged money out of her reticule and placed it on the counter.

"We don't sell to ladies."

She jammed the money into Tait's hand. "I want that bottle." She pointed an unsteady finger at the magnum of champagne displayed between two sequined high-heeled shoes.

Tait blew out an exasperated breath that stirred the hair hanging over his brow.

"Tait, please?" Her voice cracked with pain and Tait, too soft-hearted by half, relented.

Sidling up to the bar, Tait hung his head low and muttered to the bartender.

"That's only for show. No self-respecting puncher would touch that sweet, sissified stuff." The barman's voice was loud enough to carry over the discordant, jangly piano playing.

A hand placed low on her back sent a vibration of recognition coursing through her body. His image shimmered in the mirror behind the bar. He was garbed in black. Even the stark whiteness of his shirt was bisected by a thin black tie.

He placed a neat pile of coins on the counter. "Give the lady the bottle, John."

"It's Jake, sir."

Slade swept the coins in his direction. "The bottle."

The man's head bobbed, and he scurried to do Slade's bidding.

His restraining hand on her back prevented her from leaving.

"Careful, it's dusty," Slade warned as he dangled the bottle by its neck.

She reached for it, but he didn't release it. Angry, she peered up at him. He was studying her as though he'd never seen her before. "So my wild thing, what are you up to now?"

"None of your bloody business."

She hated how she noticed that his mustache, which grew straight down on either side of his mouth, stopping at the chin line, was gilded by the lamp lights. Hated even more, how she imagined the feel of it against her naked skin.

# # #

Lacey followed Tait up the rickety staircase. This was what they’d come to town for. Slade’s arrogant actions tonight would not dissuade her. Tait needed to feel he was doing something for his brother.

Foolishly, she cradled the bottle in her arm. She hadn’t even taken the time to deposit it in the wagon. Had she really thought champagne would help her forget him for awhile? She straightened a hair pin and handed it to Tait. He poked the keyhole tentatively. He worked the lock as though it were booby-trapped. He cast wary glances over his shoulder as if he expected his brother at any moment. She wasn't worried, Slade had been so deep into his game she was certain that he wouldn’t be returning for a long while.

Thankfully, the lock was a simple one, or they would have been there all night. Tait reached around the door knowing where to find the lantern. The glow illuminated the bleak room. The man had worked his hands raw only to find himself here. She swallowed back the tears.

"Quick, close the door," Tait said. His voice unnaturally high from fear. Immediately, he got down on his knees and crawled around beside the broken down desk. He tapped on the wooden planks, and then with a satisfied smile, pried up a loose one.

She weighed the pitiful sack of coins in the palm of her hand. She’d hauled a crate load of her finest dresses to Gertie’s, and Tait had sold some of his father’s prized rifles. But all they had to show for it, was this pittance.

Tait was convinced his brother would be sticking around. Lacey wasn’t going to burst his bubble, but she was sure, Slade had probably had enough of ranching. Unfortunately, gamblers and bounty hunters were notorious for not staying long in one place.

Lacey peered over Tait’s shoulder. She gasped at the amount of money stashed in the floor.

Tait whistled in appreciation. "Damn, he’s good."

Lacey felt positively ridiculous depositing their few coins. Nonetheless, she placed the sack carefully atop the rest of the money. Tait quickly sealed it up.

Tait was preparing to douse the lantern when the door creaked open. "Carolina, I’m too damn tired for any of this."

It felt like he’d torn the heart from her chest. Carolina Talbot had been sharing this room with him.

His broad shoulders nearly spanned the doorway. She forgot how big he was--how his presence seemed to take all the air from a room.

"Tait, what did I tell you about coming here?"

"Not to," he said sounding as surly as his brother.

Slade handed Tait one of the guns from his belt. "Take this. And get yourself safely back to the inn. He handed him some change. Buy yourself a steak."

His brother’s reprimand was quickly forgotten as Tait admired the gleaming weapon in his hand. Lacey could tell it meant everything to him that Slade would entrust him with one of his prized guns.

"Now, don’t go waving it around."

"Course not, Slade. I ain’t stupid." Tait tucked the gun into the back of his waistband.

She moved to follow Tait. Skirting past Slade, she shoved the bottle at him. "Here, you can share this with your lover."

"Why, then, you’ll have to stay, darlin’." Slade’s arm reached across barring Lacey’s exit.

"Tait, you go on now. I’ll bring her back safely to the inn in a bit."

"Please, I’d rather not be here when Carolina shows up." She tried to squirm past him. With panic, she heard Tait heading down the stairs.

"Did I sound like I was welcoming her?"

She shook her head. He’d actually sounded close to disgusted at the idea that Carolina was in his room. "Then share it with your French barmaid."

"She means nothing to me, and you know it."

Slade took a step in her direction, and she took two back. Hoping to stop her retreat, he put his hands up in surrender and stood perfectly still. With his back to the door, he shut it and locked it.

"What'd you say to me that night?" He worried over this like a dog with a bone. God, he was hopeless.