Anita Mills (21 page)

“Well, you keep a good hold on her,” his friend insisted. “A real good hold.”

“I said I got her.”

“Then let’s get the hell outta here.”

She waited until she judged she was in the doorway itself, then she fought in earnest, making them force her through it. Her foot hit the frame, and one of her captors stumbled against it.

“Owww!”

“Woman’s a wildcat—a damned wildcat!”

She couldn’t see anything, but she felt his grasp loosen. Jerking free, she plunged into the hall, screaming, “Help! Help! I’m being attacked!” As the coat slipped from her face, the other man caught her by the arm. She twisted and turned, clawing at his face, trying to reach his eyes. “Help!
Matt!”

He’d been asleep when he’d heard the first thumps, but Verena’s frantic cries brought him to his feet. Groping for the holster he’d hung over the bedpost, Matt found the Colt, then he ran into the hall, his thumb on the hammer. As he cleared his door, the hanging lantern on the hall wall afforded enough light for him to see two men wrestling Verena, trying to drag her toward the back stairs. Afraid of hitting her, he fired the first shot over them.

Both men dropped down and scrambled on their hands and knees for the steps. As Verena leaned against the wall, catching her breath, Matt looked into the dark, narrow stairwell. When he turned back, he saw her standing there, shaking. Her chemise was torn, hanging from one shoulder, affording him a darned good look at a bare breast. And at the end of the hall, a boarder’s door opened.

“It’s all right, Rena,” he managed, turning her in to his arm, shielding her nakedness from view. “You’re all right, sweetheart.”

“What’s going on here?” a groggy voice asked.

“Somebody had the wrong room,” Matt answered smoothly. “Everything’s all right. I guess he must’ve been drunk, that’s all.”

“Thought I heard a gunshot,” the man mumbled.

“Yeah. He scared my sister, and when she screamed, I took a shot at him.”

“Oh.” As if that explained everything, the man backed into his room and closed his door.

“Come on—let’s get you inside before anybody else comes out,” Matt whispered, holding her against him as he maneuvered her into his room. Kicking his door shut, he stood there for a moment, just holding her, his arms around her shaking shoulders. “What happened?” he asked finally.

“I feel foolish … so foolish,” she whispered against his chest. “It was stupid … just plain stupid.”

His arms tightened protectively. “It’s all right, Rena. I’ve got you, and I don’t think they’ll be coming back—not for a while, anyway.”

She leaned into him, savoring the solid warmth of his body, the strong, masculine feel of him. “I’m so glad you heard me,” she managed, swallowing.

“From what I saw, it looked like you were giving a damned good accounting of yourself.”

“It was stupid,” she said again. “I should’ve never opened the door.” Taking a deep breath for calm, she let it escape slowly. “I couldn’t sleep, Matt. I was just lying there, thinking how miserably hot it was, when … when I thought I heard something. It must’ve been my key rattling in the lock when they tried to open the door.” Gulping air again, she went on, explaining, “I thought maybe it was you, that you’d just gotten in or something. I thought maybe you were mistakenly trying to let yourself into the wrong room. Or maybe somebody else couldn’t see the number in the dark.”

“I was asleep in the right one.”

“Well, I didn’t know what time it was.” She paused for another breath. “Anyway, I asked if it was you, and nobody answered. So I waited awhile, wondering if maybe I’d just imagined it. Finally, rather than sit up the rest of the night like a silly coward, I decided I’d take a look.”

“Go on.”

Self-conscious now, she would have stepped back, but she was acutely aware of the torn cloth between them, of the fact that she had almost nothing on. She could feel the heat creep into her face with the realization that he had to know she wasn’t even wearing her drawers.

“Uh—”

“Everything all right in there, Mr. Herrick?” a male voice called through the door.

“Yeah. Who is it?”

“Holmstead.”

The proprietor. “Yeah, everything’s all right,” Matt assured him. “It was just a drunk trying to get into my sister’s room by mistake. When she couldn’t discourage him, I fired a shot over his head. I’ll pay for the damage in the morning.” As he said it, he remembered he was too broke to pay for anything, including his room. Come morning, a different hell was going to break loose.

“She all right?” Holmstead wanted to know. “There’s a lamp broken out here, and kerosene’s spilled.”

“Yeah, I think she tried to hit him over the head with it. He was a little hard to convince, I guess.”

“But you’re sure she’s all right?”

“As soon as I get her calmed down, she’ll be going back to her bed.”

“I’m real sorry this happened, mister. Bad as things are in town, me and the missus try to run a respectable place. We don’t aim to allow no molesting of females here.” There was a pause, and when Matt didn’t respond, the fellow decided, “Well, if she don’t need anything, guess I’ll put another lamp in her room and go back to bed.”

“Yeah!”

While he waited for the man’s shuffling steps to fade, Matthew rubbed Verena’s upper back. Deciding they were alone again, he returned to the matter at hand. “Did you get any kind of look at either of them? Would you know them again if you saw them?”

“No, but I recognized a voice.”

“That’s a start, anyway.”

“It was one of those I’d heard at the Goode ranch. I heard him in the hall there.”

“What about the other one?”

“No. He sounded different.”

“That’d make three,” he mused. “All right—did you hear anything else, anything we could go on?”

She hesitated, wondering if she ought to tell him, then nodded. “It didn’t make any sense, Matt. But they kept saying they weren’t going to hurt me—that they were going to help me, that I could have my share of whatever it is they think I’ve got.”

It had to be money, by the sound of it. For a moment, he wondered again if she was playing straight with him, or if she was just using him.

She hesitated again, then added, “Something else was odd—and frightening. They mentioned a Gib again, just like at Goode’s. One of them said, ‘If you don’t come with me and Lee, Gib’s gonna find you, and then you’ll be real dead.’”

“But no last name? You didn’t hear Gib’s last name?”

“No, it was more like they thought I ought to know it. But I don’t. I don’t know any of them.” Daring to look up at him, she took another deep breath. “I’m scared—truly scared,” she admitted. “Matt, I’ve got to report this to the sheriff before somebody hurts or kills me.”

He couldn’t risk that, and he knew it. If she made a report and there was an investigation, he’d have to run out on her, and right now he couldn’t do that either. He shook his head. “You can’t give him anything to go on yet, Rena. You can’t describe anybody to him, and you can’t give him any real motive for this. Without some kind of proof, he’s liable to think you’re imagining things.”

“But you saw those men—you know I’m not lying.”

“But I didn’t get a good look at either of them.” Releasing her reluctantly, he stepped back. “Look, I believe you, but even if you tell a lawman everything you know, it’s not going to make a whole lot of sense to him, is it?”

“Well, I can’t just wait for another attempt on my life,” she retorted. “You know, the next time you might not be around to save me. I may not know why, but I can tell you with certainty that these men are desperate.”

“Yeah, but there’s something missing. It’s got to be something else besides the obvious.”

“I swear to God, Matt—I don’t have anything anybody would want.”

“Besides the obvious.”

“Well, that wasn’t what they were looking for. I’m telling you they’ve mistaken me for somebody else.”

“Maybe.”

“You don’t really believe me.”

“Of course I do,” he lied. “But it’s not me you’ve got to convince, is it?”

“I really think I ought to talk to the sheriff, Matt. At least he might notice something once I make him aware of this—maybe someone acting suspicious even.”

He looked pained. “You’re going to tell him that for reasons totally unknown, three or more complete strangers are chasing an impoverished Philadelphia schoolteacher all over East Texas, threatening to kill her. Doesn’t make much sense, does it?”

“Well, I hope I can put it more convincingly than that.”

“But that’s what it boils down to, isn’t it? No, I think you’re going to have to give him at least some proof if you expect him to help you.”

“But I don’t know anything else to tell him! I just don’t! But you saw them,” she recalled suddenly. “Even if you can’t identify them, you saw what happened, Matt. It’s not just me saying it.” When he didn’t respond, she looked up. “Or is it?”

“You’re not going to convince anyone without more evidence than this, Rena. You don’t know what they look like, and you don’t know what they want. All you can say is that someone tried to abduct you.”

“Two someones,” she corrected him. “And I’ve got to convince somebody before they kill me.” Betraying her exasperation, she declared, “You know, no matter what you say, I can tell you don’t believe me—it shows in your face.”

“A body’d have to think about this long and hard to make any sense out of it. I don’t know whether it’s something you’re not telling me—” He could see her stiffen, but he went on, adding, “Well, you’ve got to admit there’s something missing somewhere. I don’t know—maybe you just aren’t remembering it, Rena. Or maybe you’re looking right at it and don’t know it.”

“See? That’s exactly what I meant. Somehow I’m responsible for my own abduction.”

“No, I didn’t mean that.”

The bright moon outside cast a slice of light that fanned out from the window, making her chestnut hair seem darker, catching it in a net of silver. His gaze dropped lower to her luminous eyes, then to the pale sheen of ivory skin, the torn shoulder of her chemise, the rhythmic rise and fall of a breast barely concealed by the slender hand covering it. For a moment, he forgot everything beyond her exquisite beauty.

“Well, just what do you mean?” she persisted.

Jerked back to reality by the edge in her voice, he tried to recover his thoughts, but couldn’t.

His manner had changed, building an almost palpable tension within the small room. And what she saw in his eyes was both exhilarating and a little bit frightening. Taking a step backward, she tried to tell herself she was overwrought, that she was just imagining that look.

“Is something the matter?” she dared to ask him.

“No.” His mouth was so dry he could hardly speak. “It’s just not time to look up the sheriff—not yet, anyway.”

She hesitated uncertainly. “Well, I suppose he wouldn’t want to be awakened in the middle of the night,” she conceded. His gaze made her acutely aware of how she must look. “I … uh … I’d better get back to bed,” she decided.

“Yeah. I reckon we both need some sleep.”

“Yes—well, I’m going to put my chair against my door, so if you hear it fall … I mean … well, you will come running, won’t you?”

He could tell she was still more than a little scared, and she had a right to be, he told himself. “Tell you what,” he decided suddenly, “I’m going to pour you a drink of some real Tennessee sipping whiskey, and you’re going to sit in that chair over there until you settle down some. Get a little good Tennessee mash in you, and you’ll sleep a whole lot better.”

“Oh, but I don’t think—”

“Trust me, Rena.” Reaching out, he lifted her chin with his knuckle. The moonlight reflected in her eyes like stars against a dark sky. No, he couldn’t think things like that, not now, not at a time like this. “I want you to stay in here tonight.”

“Oh, but I—”

“Wait a minute, now—before you go getting your back up like a spitting cat, you’ve got to listen.”

“But—”

“Once I get you settled down, I’m taking your room. That way, if those two come back, they’ll be dealing with me.” As she stared up at him, he felt as if he could drown in those eyes of hers. “Trust me, Rena,” he said softly. “I won’t let anybody hurt you,” he added, dropping his hand.

She’d thought he intended to kiss her, and when he didn’t, her relief was tempered by a sense of disappointment. “I see. Well, I’ll need my nightgown. I’ll have to go back to get my nightgown.”

“I’ll bring it over before I go to bed.” Moving away, he took the bottle from the bedside table, pulled the cork with his teeth, and poured her three good fingers of whiskey into a crockery cup. Carrying it back to her, he thrust it into her hands. “Here.”

She gazed down at the liquid. In the semidarkness, it looked almost black against the white cup. “I don’t know if I should try this,” she said doubtfully. “I’ve just now recovered from Mr. Brassfield’s elderberry wine. I don’t think I want to feel like that again. Ever.”

“That was wine—this is whiskey. It’s the wine that makes you think your head’s been shot out of a cannon, not whiskey. Go on,” he urged her, “try it.”

She took the barest sip, then screwed up her face as she swallowed it. “Ugh.”

“It gets better,” he promised. “Just take a little at a time and let it go down easy. Don’t try to drink it down all at once.”

“I couldn’t if I wanted to.” Seeing that he clearly expected her to keep trying, she managed another, bigger taste of it. The stuff was like a trail of fire between her throat and her stomach.

“That’s better. You’re getting the hang of it now.”

“You don’t have to do this—change rooms, I mean. I won’t be stupid enough to open the door twice, I can assure you.”

“It’ll give you more peace of mind this way. Now, where’s your nightgown?”

He was too near, the room too small, the whiskey too hot going down to do much for her peace of mind, but she couldn’t say that. “In … in my carpetbag, I think,” she managed to answer. “I’d meant to get it out, but the room was so hot …” Somehow the notion of his rummaging through her things, of his touching her underclothes, seemed terribly indecent. “Maybe I’d better get it myself.”