Lawman (28 page)

"I'm no quitter either, sugar," he said,
hoping to take her mind from the cold that assailed her.
"Especially not when I'm so close to succeeding."

"Close to succeeding? Have you found the
proof you're looking for, then?"

Despite the bravery in her voice, another
shudder coursed through her as she spoke. Her arm wobbled against
his and her steps faltered, just for a moment. Concerned, Gabriel
squeezed her elbow more securely.

They passed between the gateposts marking
the entrance to the park, then continued onto the darkened city
streets beyond. Shops and houses lined their passage, some with
adobe-walled yards and lengths of flowering vines climbing their
ramadas
to set them apart from their neighbors. Nearby, a
dog howled as though calling to be set free from the confines of
one of those yards, and a night bird slipped past on a flutter of
swift moving wings.

"Have you?" Megan went on, undaunted by his
lack of reply. "Have you found some proof, or are you merely hoping
I'd suddenly decide to g—g—g—give you some?"

Her constant shivering unnerved him.
Abandoning his grasp on her elbow, Gabriel wrapped his arm warmly
around her shoulders instead. He half-expected her to shrug away
from him—out of sheer contrariness, if nothing else. She did not.
Surprised beyond measure, he looked into her whitened face as they
trod along.

Was this new submissiveness of hers a trick?
Was it the beginning of yet another plan to stop his pursuit of her
father?

If it was not, he had cause to feel very
concerned, indeed.

He decided to return to her question—and
with it, more familiar ground. "Have you some proof you've been
holding back, then? If it's your conscience that's hurting you,
Megan, it might do you good to confide in someone."

His offer was met with open-mouthed
skepticism. She arched her brow, a move made all the more
impressive by Gabriel's knowledge of how cold and disheartened she
must be.

"I suppose you hope such a confidant might
be you?" she asked.

Her wry tone made plain that she found the
notion laughable. He shrugged. "Everyone needs someone to
trust."

It was a statement he'd made many times
before, an assertion used often by the operatives he knew in order
to coax information from witnesses and criminals alike. Tonight,
for the first time, Gabriel found himself wondering at the truth of
it.

It was a strange remark to be made by a man
who trusted no one himself.

Megan stared at him with evident disbelief.
"Someone to trust?"

Her fist tightened on the coat she held at
her shoulders, and for a few, overlong seconds, he thought she
might hurl away its protection altogether. Then her grasp
eased.

With every appearance of nonchalance, she
said, "You know as well as I do that such a person doesn't
exist."

In silence, they walked further. Every
squish of her waterlogged shoes, every wet slap of her skirts
against the rocks and dirt lining their pathway reminded Gabriel of
the foolhardy way she had hurled herself into the fountain. All for
the sake of saving a father who had run at seeing her nearby.
Why?

It wasn't until he and Megan had reached the
Cosmopolitan's low pillared porch that another, more disturbing
question occurred to him. He watched the proud set of her head as
Megan preceded him into the hotel, noted the way she declined the
desk clerk's offer of assistance, followed her weary, shivering
steps as she ascended the stairs in front of him, and couldn't help
but wonder over it.

Why would a woman such as this—proud,
independent, and unswervingly loyal—defend a man who ran at the
sight of her?

The answer to that puzzle held the key to
his investigation. Gabriel would have wagered his Colt on it. He'd
have wagered himself on it—and would, in part. He meant to have an
answer from Megan before the night was finished.

And he would spare no effort to gain it.

Chapter Fifteen

Gabriel Winter was a black-hearted devil,
Megan told herself that evening as she stood beside him, shivering
in the lamp-lighted hallway of the Cosmopolitan hotel. He cared for
nothing and no one, and no amount of girlish fancy would change
that fact.

Nosireee.

Unfortunately, her staunch reminders left
her heart curiously untouched. Hoping to bolster her defenses, she
looked into his face. Beneath his hat brim, his brow furrowed with
concentration as he slid their room key into its lock. Then he
turned over the tumblers, pushed open the door, and ushered her
inside with a bedazzling grin of welcome.

All at once, Megan saw not the enemy she'd
steeled herself against—but the man who had returned to her side by
the fountain. The man who had guided her safely to a place both
warm and dry. The man who was caring for her still.

Foolish, foolish, she warned herself moments
later as she watched him turn up the lamp, shed his hat and vest,
and then kneel before the fireplace. His white shirt had turned
half-transparent, clinging in oddly shaped circles to the broad
planes and angles of his muscular back and shoulders. They were the
spots where her head and soggy hair had dripped on him while he'd
cradled her against him on the trek here, Megan realized.

He'd ruined his impeccable clothes, all for
the sake of comforting her. The realization made her feel mushy and
girlishly happy...and appallingly grateful for his care. How sweet
he'd been! How kind, how...how obviously misleading.

Had her wits gone walking? This was Gabriel
Winter. The same man who would as soon lock up her papa as question
him. Developing a fondness for a man like that would not do at
all.

Resolute, she looked away. Those water spots
proved nothing. Nothing. Surely it would be the height of madness
to begin believing Gabriel a decent man now, when he'd proved he
was the opposite by chasing her father down before her very
eyes.

And yet somehow, no matter how hard she
tried, Megan couldn't keep from hoping he really
was
decent.
Really was as kind as he'd seemed. Really was just a little bit
less cynical for having spent his days with her.

And somehow, no matter how hard she tried,
she could not keep her gaze from straying in his direction.

The moments ticked past. Ensnared by the raw
male strength Gabriel displayed as he stacked logs to build a
massive fire—a fire to warm
her
—Megan found herself unable
to muster the defensiveness she'd held as armor between them until
now. They were enemies to be sure.

But perhaps not quite as different as they'd
first seemed, after all.

Everyone needs someone to trust
, he
had said. Was that true for him, as well?

She decided to find out. With the night
slipping past and her papa's Faro game doubtless in progress at the
gamblers' hidden location, there wasn't much more she could do to
help her father or regain her nest egg money before daybreak. Until
then, she had only Gabriel Winter and his secrets for company.
Megan meant to learn all she could about both, for as long as she
had the opportunity.

Besides, she reasoned as she grasped her wet
shoe in hand and set to work unfastening its formerly fashionable
French
Dieppe
tie, if the Pinkerton man remained with her,
he could not be out searching for her papa. The longer she could
make him stay, the better.

With her determination renewed, Megan tugged
off her shoe and dropped it onto the brightly embroidered wool rug
beside the bed. At the muffled thud of her footwear striking the
floor, Gabriel turned his head.

His vivid blue eyes widened at the sight of
her. Then he frowned. Chagrined, she realized the picture she must
make. A lady, she felt fairly certain, did not balance atop one
stockinged foot and grope at her soggy kid leather shoe ties.

Especially in the presence of a
gentleman.

Well, in that case she was excused, Megan
told herself. Because the Pinkerton man was no gentleman.

As though he'd guessed her estimation of
him, Gabriel rose from his crouched position. He moved closer,
revealing that the fire he'd laid was now lit in the fireplace
behind him. The flames licked eagerly at the kindling, creating a
meager warmth that did less to warm her than did the mere sight of
Gabriel coming near. His expression looked intent, his stride
purposeful.

Whatever could he want with her, to be
wearing so determined a look? It was nearly enough to tempt her
into surrendering where she stood, rather than find out. Instead,
she took a step backward, then another. Through her skirts, the
backs of her knees struck the room's small sofa. With a whoosh,
Megan found herself plopped onto its sturdy, glossy surface.

He grinned. She scowled back, determined not
to reveal that he'd affected her. Surely he couldn't guess she'd
been all-but ogling him a few minutes ago...could he?

Gabriel stopped a few inches from her
mud-splattered skirts. Compared with the delicacy of their
lace-trimmed edges, his boots seemed huge. So did he, towering over
her. Perhaps the differences between them were significant, after
all.

He unfastened his cuffs and rolled his
sleeves back, one after the other. His slow, easy movements only
showcased the flexing length of his forearms, an intriguing sight
that did nothing to dispel the sudden nervousness she felt. Megan
had the quick, certain impression she'd been right to back away
from him before. Tremblingly, heart-poundingly right.

Except now she was trapped on the sofa,
without even the benefit of both shoes to aid in her escape.

Gabriel finished the last turn of his shirt
sleeve and put his hands on his hips. "Don't be afraid, Megan.
There's no need to run from me."

"I wasn't running!" Indignant, she sat
straighter and shoved a hank of damp hair from her eyes. "I merely
tripped over my shoe, and I—I...I'm not afraid of you. I'm not
afraid of anything."

The lie slipped from her lips like hot honey
poured from a pitcher. Smooth. Sweet. Sticky, too, before long. She
had little doubt of that.

"Yes, you are," he said. "You are afraid
sometimes, and that's all right. Everyone is. The difference is,
you don't let it defeat you."

"I...I...."

Moved by his unlikely praise—and it truly
had
sounded
like praise, coming from him—she couldn't form a
reply. Feeling gawky and uncertain, Megan settled for plastering an
uncaring expression on her face. She augmented it with an uncaring
sniff, and bent to struggle with her single remaining shoe.

Remaining aloof had been her defense for as
long as she could remember—against the schoolchildren who had
teased her when her mama ran off, against the snooty ladies of
influence in town, against the impenetrable barrier of her papa's
comings-and-goings. Surely it could work its magic now.

Surely Gabriel would leave her alone, just
like everyone else had.

To her amazement, he did not. Instead, he
knelt before her, like a courtier from an old-time storybook paying
homage to his lady. His dark hair gleamed in the firelight, lending
him a striking appearance despite his casual clothes.

It was as though one of her favorite French
novels had come suddenly to life, with herself as the heroine, and
Gabriel Winter as the dashing hero. Savoring the fanciful notion,
she stopped fumbling with her shoe long enough to linger over the
sight of him on bent knee. She nearly sighed over the handsome
picture he made.

With a man such as Gabriel honoring her, a
woman could find herself charmed for certain. Especially if she
happened to be a spinster. Especially if she'd long ago given up
hope of being loved. Especially if she couldn't help fancying the
courtier just the tiniest bit already.

"After all," he went on quietly, lowering
his hands to her skirt hem, "fear is only anticipation turned
'round a bit. When danger comes close, a person ought to feel her
heart beating faster. She ought to feel her breath quicken and her
fingers tremble and her mind prepare itself for what's to come. If
she can't...well, then maybe she was only half-alive to begin
with."

Megan's gaze locked on his bowed head. She
did feel all those things, and more! Watching as Gabriel turned
back her skirt hem, revealing the tips of her stockinged foot and
one lonely shoe a bit more with each fold of the fabric, she felt
nigh bewitched by him, too.

She could only conclude that meant he was as
dangerous as she'd suspected. But for the moment, Megan wanted to
feel the pulsing kind of life he'd spoken of. She wanted it so much
that she stayed right where she was.

With him.

From his pose on one knee at her skirts,
Gabriel looked up at her. Vital. Fully alive. Brimming with
intensity and intelligence and feeling. He had experienced danger
and faced it down. He had experienced anticipation, too, and spoke
of it freely. She'd never known anyone more accepting of what life
held out for tasting and touching and feeling.

She'd never known anyone more accepting of
her
.

For one shocking instant, Megan found
herself wondering if those royal ladies of old had ever looked upon
their charming courtiers as she herself looked at Gabriel now. She
wondered, if they had, if those ladies had ever found themselves
stricken...felt themselves falling in love in a moment.

"You're not afraid," she managed to say.
"I've never seen you show the least bit of fear."

"You can't believe everything you see."
Gabriel smiled, ruefully, as though remembering some private jest.
Then he slipped his hand round the ankle he'd revealed with his
hem-folding, cupped her shoe's heel in his hand, and said, "You're
soaked to the skin, and the next thing to go is this shoe. Let me
help you."