Anita Mills (27 page)

“I should’ve waited for you, but I sort of lost my head,” he admitted. “I wanted it to be good for you.”

“You mean you could’ve waited?”

“It’s supposed to happen to both of us—it’s better that way. But I got greedy too fast.” Looking down on her tangled hair spilling over his pillow, on those wide, luminous eyes, he felt a surge of renewed desire. And he knew that this time it’d take him long enough to make it good for her. “Rena—”

She could see the heat return to his eyes, and it sent a fresh shiver of anticipation down her spine. And this time she knew exactly where he meant to lead her. This time when she twined her arms around his neck, pulling his head down for her kiss, she was more than ready for everything he’d do to her.

“You promised me the whole night, didn’t you?” she whispered.

As his lips touched hers, some distant conscience warned him he could be giving her more than either of them bargained for, but somewhere between the smell of roses and the warmth of her embrace, he forced it from his mind.

He ought to be feeling pretty damned good, but he wasn’t. No, he was feeling just about as low now as anytime he could remember, almost as low as those awful days after he’d lost his brothers. Sitting there, he swirled the amber liquid in his glass, looking into the depths, thinking he was a damned fool. But that wasn’t the worst of it—no, he was a pretty worthless fellow.

“You’re drinkin’ mighty hard for ten o’clock in the morning,” the man behind the bar said.

“Yeah.”

“Guess if I’d put that purty little lady on the stage, maybe I’d be drownin’ myself in the stuff, too.”

“Maybe.”

“She’ll be back—I’d bet on it,” the fellow offered.

“No.”

“Why, the way she was lookin’ at you, I’d—”

“No, you wouldn’t,” Matt cut in curtly. He didn’t want to talk. Hell, he didn’t want to face anybody. Lurching to his feet, he grabbed the nearly full bottle and his brand-new rifle, then headed for the door.

“Didn’t mean to run you off, mister,” the bartender called out after him.

He didn’t want to go back to the hotel either. Instead, he found himself walking down by the river, taking idle swigs from the bottle, wondering how in hell he’d gotten himself to this pass. Every time he closed his eyes, he could still see her lying in that featherbed, her hair spilling over that pillow, her eyes inviting him to love her. Either that, or she was stepping up into that stagecoach, turning back for one last look at him. And like a fool, he’d stood there watching until the damned thing was out of sight, wishing he could go after her.

But it would have been wrong. Even more wrong than what had happened between them last night. He might be what she wanted right now, but he sure as hell wasn’t what she needed, and someday she’d be almost certain to find that out. This way she could sell that farm and head home to Pennsylvania where she belonged. She could find somebody decent, marry, and raise some nice, well-scrubbed kids. That’s what a woman like Verena Howard really deserved. Not somebody like him, somebody who was wanted for murder. Somebody she might see hang for it.

So instead, he’d made her go on, leaving him with nothing but fond memories and a fading black eye. In another two days or so, it’d only be the memories.

As he sat down on the riverbank, he caught a glimpse of a rider on horseback approaching him. Looking up, he saw it was the blond man they’d encountered at the Goode ranch and in the restaurant last night. That at least gave him a brief measure of relief. He wasn’t after Verena. His relief faded with the realization that the damned fellow was probably playing cat and mouse with him. Fixing a bland expression on his face, he nodded a greeting.

“Howdy,” the man said, dismounting. Walking over to where Matt sat, he dropped to his haunches beside him. Close up, the most striking thing about him were his eyes. They were ice blue and utterly cold. “You’re drinking early.”

“When a man drinks is his business,” Matt muttered.

“Where’s the Howard woman?” the fellow asked abruptly.

The question took Matt aback, and he started to deny knowing her. Instead, he answered softly, “Now that, my friend, is none of your business.”

“Name’s Ryder—Ben Ryder, Texas Ranger.”

Figuring he was in the bluff of his life, Matt didn’t react. “Ryder,” he repeated as if it meant nothing.

“Look, I don’t aim to beat the bush for answers.”

“So far you haven’t asked much,” Matt murmured.

“I don’t much cotton to sass either,” the ranger warned him. “I want to know straight out where she is.”

“She left town this morning.”

“But she was with you all the way from Galveston.”

“Yeah.”

The ranger hesitated, digesting that, then asked curtly, “How well do you know her?”

“Where I come from, it’s not a crime to know a lady.”

“You were traveling as man and wife, then as brother and sister. Why?”

Matt shrugged again. “I was trying to help out a little. She had two, maybe three, hardcases after her, and she was afraid to travel alone. That’s all there was to it. It was just to give the appearance that she wasn’t alone. Before that, I didn’t know her from Adam.” Taking another pull from the bottle, Matt met the other man’s gaze squarely. “What difference does it make, anyway?”

“She’s in trouble—big trouble. You’re damned lucky she went on without you. Otherwise, I’d be hauling you in as an accessory.”

“Accessory to what?”

“Possession of stolen property, for one thing.” The ranger looked out across the water, squinting in the morning sun. “She ever tell you about her old man?”

Matt’s first thought was that she’d duped him, but he didn’t want to believe it. No, he wouldn’t believe it. “No,” he lied, “why?”

“He stole a whole lot of money, then went into hiding.”

“What’s that got to do with her?”

“He’s dead, McCready—or is it Herrick?” he asked, his voice deceptively soft. “Which one are you?”

As Ryder turned those cold eyes on him, Matthew knew he needed to be careful how he answered. He wasn’t home free until he got across that Mexican border. “What difference does it make?” he countered again. “You don’t have a warrant under either name, do you?”

“No, but I’d guess I could wire Austin and get one. Funny thing about having an alias—it usually means a man’s wanted.”

“If an alias was a crime, there wouldn’t be enough jails in Texas to hold everybody.”

“So which is it—McCready or Herrick? I don’t aim to waste all day with you.”

“McCready.” Seeing that the man’s eyes narrowed, he added, “Matthew James McCready.”

“Got a reason for calling yourself Herrick?”

“No. Nothing that you’d care about, anyway. I got to gambling, got in too deep, and ran when I couldn’t pay up. I thought I saw somebody I knew from Nashville at Columbus, so I registered as Herrick, that’s all.”

“You’re from Tennessee?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re a helluva long way from home. Take a lot to make a man run that far, I’d say.”

“I made a few enemies,” Matt admitted. “I figured if they caught up with me, I’d be trying to swim the Cumberland with lead in my boots.” Gambling that Ryder would buy it, he added, “They aren’t the sort to bother with swearing out warrants. They kinda like to take care of the business themselves, and they want everybody to know it.”

“Yeah, I’ve met some like that,” the ranger allowed. “So she left town this morning?” he asked, returning to the matter at hand.

“Yeah. I figure she was going home—she said she’d had enough of Texas.”

“Home? The hell she did!” For the briefest of moments, the ranger’s face darkened, then he recovered. “If that’s so, she must know we want to talk to her. I reckon that’d be flight to avoid arrest.” Changing tactics again, Ryder stared hard. “And you’ve been with her since Galveston?”

“Before that. We came across the Gulf of Mexico on the steamer together. And it’d surprise the hell out of me if she knows anything about any money. In fact, I’ve got a hundred dollars that says she doesn’t.”

“Yeah?”

“She was about broke. I had to lend her some money in Columbus.” Taking another swig of whiskey, Matt wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “If you’ve got a warrant out on her, why didn’t you take her in? You’ve been following her since Goode’s, haven’t you?”

“I was waiting for her to lead me to the gold.”

“I thought you said it was money.”

“Gold bars. Howard stole them during the war.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. He was with a patrol of Union soldiers when they ambushed a Confederate shipment of gold. They kept it for themselves. The whole lot of ’em deserted.” Ryder squinted at the sun, then exhaled heavily. “And now I aim to find that gold and turn it in.”

“The Confederacy’s dead. I know—I was there for the funeral.”

“The state of Texas wants that gold, McCready. I was closing in on Howard when he died. Now all we’ve got to go on is the girl.”

“Then I’d say you’re out.”

“How do you figure that?”

“She didn’t even know him. She was a kid when he went off to war, and she never heard anything from him until she got word he died. As far as she knows, all he left her was a rundown farm.”

“You know a lot for somebody who didn’t talk to her about him.”

“She didn’t say much except he never came back. I pretty much gathered she didn’t have any use for him.”

“He never wrote?”

“I guess not.” Forcing the cork back into the bottle, Matt reached for a low-hanging branch and pulled himself up. Towering over the ranger, he turned the tables. “You know if it was me looking for that Confederate gold, I’d be hunting for the men who disappeared with Howard. It doesn’t make much sense to chase after a girl he abandoned years ago.”

“Most of ’em are dead. Murdered. Way I’ve got it figured, there’s only about three of ’em left, and they could be anywhere by now.”

“Yeah.”

“You know, if they find the girl before I do, they’ll get that gold out of her, and she won’t be very damned pretty when they’re done with her.” He paused, letting that sink in, then went on. “They’re desperate men, McCready. They’ve taken to killing their own kind for that gold.” Heaving his body up, he faced Matt. “I’m not buying the business about going home, not for a minute. There’s more than fifty thousand dollars hidden out there, just waiting for her—she’s sure as hell not going to turn her back on that.”

“No, I suppose not.”

“She’s headed for San Angelo, not back to Galveston. How about it?”

“If you know, why bother asking me?”

“You know, I don’t like you, McCready—I don’t like you at all. And you know what else? I’m going over to the stagecoach office and find out if she bought a ticket, and then I’m going to telegraph Austin. If there isn’t a warrant out on you, I’m going to ask for one. I figure if you’re not talking, you’re aiding and abetting.

Either that, or you’re damned stupid. Which is it, McCready?”

“You’re calling it, not me.”

“I don’t think you’re stupid. I think you stayed here to throw me off. I think you’re going to join her in San Angelo after she gets the money.”

“No. I’m headed for Austin myself. A man’s got to ply his trade where he can, so I’m figuring on getting into a game or two with some rich Texas politicians. So if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to do some serious drinking.” Flashing his most engaging smile, Matt leaned over to pick up the Henry. “Fine-looking rifle, isn’t it?”

“New?”

“Yeah.” Tucking the bottle under his arm, he started to leave the ranger standing there.

“Hamer won’t be meeting her. He’s dead. Murdered.”

Matt could almost feel his skin crawl. “I don’t know any Hamer.”

“The lawyer handling Jack Howard’s estate for her. Somebody tied him up, then blew his head off. Probably with a double-barrel shotgun.”

“I don’t know why you’re telling me.”

“Whoever did it wouldn’t think twice about hurting the girl.” Apparently giving up the notion of getting anything more out of Matthew, the ranger heaved his body up, then walked to his dun-colored horse. He swung back into the saddle, then flicked the reins against the animal’s shoulder. “If I were you, McCready,” he advised, “I wouldn’t bother with Austin—no siree, I wouldn’t. I’d just head for that Mexican border.”

“Maybe I will.”

As Matt stared after him, he could feel a shiver coursing down his spine. He’d only caught a glimpse of the man’s saddlebags, and it had taken a moment for it to register that the tooled initials didn’t fit any Ben Ryder. They were GH—G as in Gib.

Instead of turning back toward town, the stranger wheeled his horse and headed for the same road the stagecoach had taken earlier, the west road. Toward San Angelo. At the same instant as that hit him, Matt dropped the whiskey bottle and broke into a dead run for the livery stable.

The interior of the stagecoach was crowded, the air hot and stagnant with the smells of garlic and sweat. And across from Verena, a fat, toothless woman named Ida Pickens gummed a tough crust of bread left over from her breakfast, while maintaining a steady stream of conversation with the little boy beside her. Little Jimmy, in turn, demonstrated his boredom with a constant, almost rhythmic kicking of the board beneath his seat. On the other side of the woman, a lunch hamper whimpered and whined, betraying its smuggled canine occupant. From time to time, she rapped the lid sharply, admonishing the unhappy creature with, “Blackie, be still! You’ll be a-gettin’ us throwed off this here stage!”

Next to Verena, Mr. Turner, a thin-faced man in a badly wrinkled suit lost his temper. “Why don’t you just get the nasty little whelp out and be done with it?” he asked sarcastically.

“They don’t let no critters ride, mister.”

“Well, if it don’t cease that howlin’, I’m shooting it!” Across from him, the little boy puckered up and started to cry.

“Now just look what you done!” the woman snapped.

“If he starts caterwaulin’, I’ll shoot him, too,” the man declared. “Ain’t no way a body can sleep with that racket. Ain’t that so?” he asked, jabbing Verena with his elbow.

“I don’t know,” she responded tiredly.

“You don’t know! Where in tarnation you been that you ain’t been hearin’ ’em?” he all but shouted at her. “Place’s a damned menagerie!”

“It ain’t no such thing!” the woman protested loudly. “It ain’t nuthin’ but m’boy’s pup!”

“It’s not bothering me—really,” Verena told her.

Turning back to the window, she retreated again into her own painful thoughts. Aside from her father’s desertion, losing Matthew McCready was the lowest point of her life, and it was going to take her a long time to get over it. If ever.

Closing her eyes, she could relive every sinful moment of a night spent in his arms. And now she realized she’d been a sham all along. She wasn’t really a prim schoolteacher, and neither was she prepared to spend her life as a spinster. She was a flesh-and-blood woman who’d discovered what she wanted, only to learn she couldn’t have it. Not forever. Not the way it was supposed to be, anyway.

But she’d had one night with him, and oh, what a night it had been. In those hours before dawn, she’d learned more about her body than she would have ever expected. And she’d learned a lot about his. Just thinking about it brought forth an aching yearning.