LaceysWay (24 page)

Matt felt lightheaded as waves of pain chased up and down
the length of his right arm. He slid a look in Susanne’s direction and wondered
if she was all right. She looked worse than he felt, he thought glumly, and he
felt like hell.

“Susanne?”

“What?” She looked at him as if she couldn’t remember who he
was.

“Do you think you could untie my hands?”

She blinked at him several times. Why was Lacey’s husband in
her kitchen?

“Susanne?”

She shook her head, then smiled uncertainly as she began to
fumble with the rope binding Matt’s hands together.

Matt choked back a groan as she jarred his broken arm, and
then his hands were free. With his left hand, he carefully brought his right
arm up, cradling it against his chest. The effort brought a fresh sheen of
sweat to his brow. The bone hadn’t broken the skin, but his arm was swollen and
turning purple.

Susanne hovered over him, her eyes sympathetic and helpless.
She had always hated to see anyone in pain, and she could see that Matt was
hurting terribly. His breathing was shallow and rapid, and his eyes, as deep
and dark as a midnight sky, were clouded with misery.

“Matt, you can’t stay here.” The words came out in a rush,
as though the thought had just occurred to her. “J.J. is asleep upstairs.”

“I’ve got nowhere else to go,” Matt rasped. There was a slim
chance that Tucker wouldn’t turn him in, Matt thought glumly. Damn slim.

“The basement,” Susanne said. “Can you make it down to the
basement?”

“Sure.” Gritting his teeth, Matt stood up.

“I’ll help you,” Susanne said. Timidly she placed her arm
around his waist, and slowly they made their way down the narrow stairway to
the basement. Each step sent little shafts of pain dancing down Matt’s arm, and
he was sweating heavily when they reached their destination. Wearily, he sank
down on the cold stone floor.

“I’ll bring you a blanket and a candle and something to
eat,” Susanne said. “Would you like anything else?”

“Do you think you could splint my arm? It hurts like hell.”

Susanne Tucker’s face turned even more pale than usual. “No,
I couldn’t. I’ll…I’ll go fetch the doctor.”

“No.”

“Lacey, then?” Susanne suggested. She smiled at the thought
of her friend. Lacey would know what to do.

“No,” Matt said. “It’s better if no one knows where I am
just now.”

Susanne nodded. “I understand, but…I don’t know how to set a
broken bone.”

“I’ll tell you what to do. You just do the best you can.”

“I’ll try.”

“Good. You got any whiskey?”

“Yes. J.J. has some.”

“Good. We’ll need something for a splint, and some cloth to
hold it in place.”

“All right.”

Matt looked at her, his eyes probing her face. She seemed so
distant that he wondered if she really understood what he was saying. “Could
you bring me that whiskey now?”

“Yes, if you like.” On quiet feet she left the basement and
went into the dining room.

Matt closed his eyes, willing the pain to go away. He
wondered how long it would take before Pitman and the sheriff figured out where
he was. He wondered what Lacey would think when she woke and found him gone.

“Matt?”

He opened his eyes and blinked up at Susanne, his mind hazy
with pain.

“The whiskey?” She held out a crystal decanter filled with a
clear amber liquid.

“Thanks.” Moving carefully so as not to jar his injured arm,
he reached for the bottle and took a long drink. The whiskey was smooth as
velvet and it warmed him immediately, dulling the ache in his arm. He took
another drink, and then another.

Susanne watched him with a worried expression, the glass in
her hand forgotten as she watched him drink from the bottle. J.J. rarely had
more than a single glass of whiskey in the evening, and that was usually mixed
with water. He never drank it straight from the bottle.

Matt sat on his heels, his eyes closed, his broken arm
cradled against his chest, for several minutes. The pain had been reduced to a
dull ache now, and the whiskey, swallowed fast and landing on an empty stomach,
had hit him hard.

“Matt?”

He opened his eyes and gazed up at her. “What?”

“Your arm. What should I do?”

It took him a moment to remember what she was talking about,
and then he told her, as best he could, what needed to be done.

It was after ten when Lacey woke up. She knew immediately,
without even turning her head, that Matt was gone. The room felt empty, and she
was alone.

Had he left her, then? Rising quickly, she hurried to the
wardrobe and flung open the door. His clothes were still inside, and she
breathed a sigh of relief. Wherever he had gone, he would be coming back.

Slipping into her wrapper, she sat in the chair near the
window and gazed into the street below, wondering what she would say to Matt
when he returned. She had not meant to blurt out the news that she was
pregnant. She had thought to tell him when they were curled up in bed, his arms
tight around her, the mood between them warm and loving. She had been certain
he would agree to leave this dreadful town when he knew about the baby, certain
he would realize it would be best for all concerned if they went to live with
her father in Kansas, away from the troubles that plagued them in Salt Creek.
She tried to put herself in Matt’s place, tried to understand how he felt.
True, it would be terrible to know you were wanted by the law for a crime you
hadn’t committed, but they had been in Salt Creek for several months now, and
Matt was no closer to finding out who had killed Billy Henderson than when they
arrived.

She sat by the window for a long time, waiting for Matt to
return. It wasn’t until he had been gone for nearly three hours that she began
to worry. Where could he be?

Dressing, she left the room and went into the hotel dining
room. Perhaps he was lingering over a cup of coffee. But he wasn’t there
either, and she left the hotel and walked briskly toward the livery stable. His
horse was still there, quietly munching a flake of hay. His saddle and bridle
were in place as well, together with his saddlebags and canteen.

“Can I help you, ma’am?”

Lacey turned as Clyde Booker came up behind her. She smiled
a greeting at the stable owner. “I was looking for my husband.”

Clyde Booker shook his head. “Ain’t seen him this morning,
Miz Walker.”

“Thank you,” Lacey said, and picking up her skirts, she left
the barn and walked slowly back toward the hotel. Where was Matt?

At the Black Horse, she stopped outside the batwing doors
and peeked inside, but there was no sign of Matt. Back at the hotel, she sat in
the lobby for an hour, idly thumbing through an old newspaper, her thoughts
tumbling madly as she tried to surmise her husband’s whereabouts.

At six-thirty she began to get ready for work. Surely Matt
would show up at the saloon. She took pains with her appearance, wanting to
look especially pretty when she saw him again. Whatever was wrong between them
could be worked out. Anything would be better than facing the future without
Matt. Just being without him for a few short hours had taught her that.

She arrived at the saloon a little late, breathless from
hurrying down the street. Her eyes swept the saloon as she stepped inside, but
Matt was nowhere to be seen. The table he usually occupied was empty.

It was then that the first real twinge of fear made itself
known. Something was wrong.

“Evening, Lacey,” J.J. said, coming to stand beside her.
“Where’s that husband of yours?”

“I don’t know,” Lacey admitted, and burst into tears.

Frowning, J.J. put his arms around Lacey’s shoulders and led
her into his private office, a large and ornately furnished room behind the
bar.

Closing the door, he poured Lacey a shot of bourbon. “Here,
drink this. It’ll make you feel better.”

With a sniff, Lacey took the glass and obediently drank it
down. The whiskey burned a path to her stomach and brought a quick flush to her
cheeks.

“Now, what do you mean, you don’t know where he is?” Tucker
asked kindly.

“I mean I don’t know,” Lacey said, dabbing at her eyes with
the back of her hand. “When I got up this morning he was gone, and I haven’t
seen him all day.”

J.J. Tucker’s face did not change expression. It would be a
shame to lose Matt Walker. The man was a hell of a dealer, probably the best
J.J. had ever seen, and he’d seen plenty. On the other hand, with Walker out of
the picture, J.J. would have a clear field with Lacey. A little kindness, a
little understanding during a trying time, and the next thing you knew, she
would be eating out of the palm of his hand—and sleeping in his bed.

Lacey gazed up at Tucker, her eyes brimming with tears. She
had never been overly fond of the man, but at this moment he seemed like the
only friend she had in the world.

“There, there,” J.J. said, pulling her into his arms. “Go
ahead and cry if it will make you feel better.”

And cry she did. The tears flowed, seemingly without end,
and Tucker held her all the while, his hands soothing as they patted her back,
his voice soft and consoling as he assured her that everything would be all
right.

“Maybe you shouldn’t work tonight,” J.J. suggested. “Why
don’t you just stay in here and relax? I’ll order some dinner from the hotel
later, and we can have a nice talk. Meanwhile, I’ll ask around and see if I can
learn anything about your husband’s whereabouts.”

“Thank you, J.J.,” Lacey said, her voice filled with
gratitude. “I really don’t feel like working tonight.”

“It’s settled then,” Tucker said, giving her a disarming
smile. “You just rest awhile, and I’ll look in on you later.”

Lacey nodded. Perhaps she had misjudged the man. He was
really very kind. For a few minutes she wandered around his office. It was
expensively furnished with a large mahogany desk, an overstuffed black leather
chair, a pair of brass oil lamps, a comfortable sofa, and a small bar stocked
with several kinds of whiskey and a tray of crystal glassware.

Feeling weary and discouraged, Lacey curled up on the sofa
and drifted to sleep.

Tucker was whistling softly when he left his office. Along
about eight, the saloon began to fill and he moved from table to table, taking
time to exchange a few words with his regular customers, pausing at the gaming
tables to make sure everything was as it should be.

A short time later Toby Pitman entered, followed by the
sheriff. Tucker frowned. Henderson never set foot in the Black Horse except
when making his nightly rounds or to make an arrest.

“Evening, Sheriff,” Tucker said pleasantly. He glanced
pointedly at the bandage swathed around Pitman’s head, saw the warning in his
eyes. “Anything wrong?”

“I’ll say,” Henderson replied tersely. “I just rode into
town a few minutes ago. Been out checking on a complaint over by the Double L.
Anyway, Pitman here identified your new dealer as Matt Drago.”

Tucker’s eyebrows shot up as he lost his usually placid expression
in surprise. “Drago! The man who killed Billy?”

“One and the same,” the sheriff said.

“Well, he’s not here,” Tucker said. “See for yourself.”

The sheriff nodded. “Pitman had him dead to rights, but
Drago managed to get away. We’ve checked the livery. His horse is still there,
so we figure he’s holed up in town somewheres.”

Tucker nodded. “Like I said, he’s not here, but you’re free
to look around.”

“Obliged,” Henderson said, and spent the next ten minutes
poking into the rooms upstairs, which caused considerable annoyance to several
men seeking some female companionship from the saloon girls.

Tucker stood at the bar, his foot on the rail, a thoughtful
expression in his eyes. He didn’t object when Henderson asked to take a look in
his office, although he knew it would be hard to explain what Lacey was doing
there.

The lawman threw J.J. an amused look when he saw Lacey
asleep on Tucker’s sofa. “So,” he said, closing the door, “that’s the way it
is.”

“Don’t go jumping to any conclusions, Sheriff,” Tucker
warned. “She was upset about her husband’s disappearance, that’s all. She came
to me for help, and I let her take the night off. That’s all.”

“Makes no never mind to me,” Henderson replied with a nasty
smirk. “I want that murderin’ bastard behind bars. I don’t care what his wife
does, or who she does it with.”

“If I hear anything, I’ll let you know.”

“I’m sure of that,” Henderson said with a knowing grin. “I’m
damn sure of that.”

“Bastard,” Tucker muttered under his breath as Henderson
moved away. He watched the lawman leave the saloon, then turned hard green eyes
on Pitman. “Spit it out, Toby. What the hell happened?”

Pitman shrugged. “I had him tied up, and then somebody hit
me from behind.” Toby lifted a hand to his head. “Whoever it was knocked me out
cold. When I came to, I was at the doc’s and he was patching me up. He gave me
something to make me sleep. I came here as soon as I woke up.”

“Where’s Tanner?”

“Looking for Drago.”

“Why didn’t you come to me first?”

“I wanted to make sure my hunch was right before I said
anything to you.”

“You damn fool. Now we’ve lost him.” Tucker fixed Pitman
with a piercing stare. “You didn’t tell him anything, did you?”

“Of course not,” Pitman said quickly.

Tucker nodded. “Get out of here. I don’t want to see your
face again until Matt Drago is behind bars. You got that?”

“Yessir.”

Tucker rubbed his jaw thoughtfully, his eyes as cold as
glacier ice. Pitman had made one mistake too many.

Lacey was sitting up when J.J. Tucker entered his office a
few moments later. Her eyes were a little puffy, her hair tousled. He thought
she had never looked lovelier, or been more vulnerable.