Rachel Donnelly (32 page)

The sound of laughter beyond the cabin door shattered the stillness, causing the intoxicating feeling to float away.

He took a step back. “I have to go.”

Reality seeped in, lifting her from the dream. She wanted to pull him back, make him stay, but pride kept her from speaking the words to keep him there. How was it that a single look from him could feel so powerful, as though he’d touched her with his hands? She took a long shuddering breath. “I have to find my money.”

Nat pinned her with a scorching look. “You’re not going anywhere. Do you hear me? I want you to stay in this cabin and bolt the door.”

“Why?”

“Because Billy Everett is downstairs in the saloon playing a game of poker.”

Her stomach lurched.

The Everetts.

Here?

Her legs began to tremble. So that was what Holt meant. “Why don’t you notify the sheriff?”

“Captain Jackson is in the process of doing that right now. In the meantime, I want you here, safe. Do you understand? I don’t want you getting in the way.”

Her mouth went dry. “You’re going to kill him, aren’t you?”

He gave her a long slow look, then headed for the door.

The door closed.

Christie stood, for what seemed an eternity, staring at the closed door, willing it to open and for him to walk through it again.

Then slowly, she came to the realization he wouldn’t. She remembered feeling that way once before, the last time he’d left to chase after the Everetts. But this time it was different — more urgent, mixed with a cold dread, like the time she’d watched Evie fall out of a tree and there was nothing she could do to stop her.

Christie moved away with a shuddering sigh, her throat tight — heart clutching in her breast.

Why did she go on torturing herself, worrying about him when he didn’t return her feelings? He didn’t care if she was safe, as long as she stayed out of his way. There was only room for one thing in his life — revenge. And he wouldn’t let anything or anyone get in his way.

She had to get home — away from this whole mess — away from Nat Randall for good.

But in order to do that, she must find her money. She couldn’t get home without it.

She went to her bedchamber in search her trunk, hoping by some miracle she’d been mistaken. When she finished, the trunk was empty, contents scattered about the floor — hoops, crinolines, gowns everywhere, but not a coin to be had.

What could she do?

How would she get home? If only she’d bought a train ticket in advance. Traveling expenses had been more costly than she expected.

The prospect of wiring her father for more money was too much to bear.

The Captain had promised to question the porters, but if no other thefts had been reported, the chances were slim that a thief had snuck on board — other than the one sharing her cabin.

She had to find Leigh.

“What are you doin’?”

“What do you mean, what am I doin’?” Cecil put his hands on his hips, striking a sassy pose. “I got me a disguise, just like you said.”

Billy pulled away from the saloon door, shaking his head. If stupid had a name, it was Cecil. “I told you to get one of them porter uniforms, not dress yourself up like a female.”

“What difference does it make, as long as I get inside the rooms?” Cecil looked more confused than angry. “I’m not goin’ dancin’ at the ball or anything.”

“It’s a good thing, ’cause you are the ugliest woman I have ever laid eyes on.”

“Well, pardon me for not bein’ born with an angel face like yours.”

Billy made a swipe with the back of his hand, but Cecil ducked before he could connect with the side of his head. “You are as stupid as the day you were born.”

“Oh yah!” Cecil’s tone turned cocky. “We’ll see how stupid I am when I come back with fat pockets and you lose that mitt full of cash you stole from Flossie.”

Billy’s blood went hot. He reached over and picked Cecil up by his lace collar. “Shut your trap!”

“Let go!” Cecil squirmed. “You’re wrinkling my blouse!”

“Flossie doesn’t know I took that money!” Billy gave Cecil a hard shake. “And you better not have told her, or so help me God … .”

“Who says I told her?”

Billy dropped Cecil back to the floor, then glanced over his shoulder to see if anyone had spied him manhandling a woman. “You got a soft spot for Flossie, you always have. For that matter, you got a soft spot for any kind of woman who crosses your path.”

“I know how to treat one, that’s for certain,” Cecil grumbled under his breath.

“You ain’t never had a woman.” Cecil was good for telling tales. “You’ve only had whores. And they don’t count, ’cause you’ve got to pay them. A respectable woman won’t look at you sideways.”

“Miss Wallace looked at me plenty.” Cecil thrust his chin out. “She talked to me, too.”

Billy laughed loud and long. “What are you gonna do, run off and try to find her, see if she’ll talk to you again?”

Cecil’s eyes narrowed, then he smashed his lips together like he always did when he was feeling stubborn. “I’ve been thinkin’ on it.”

The thought of Cecil abandoning him made Billy go hot. “Seems to me, you’ve been doing a little too much of that. I don’t care how much dreamin’ you do about Randall’s woman, but what happens between me and Flossie is none of your concern. Do you hear me?”

“I ain’t told Flossie nothin’, Cecil sputtered. “But she’s gonna find out.”

“Well, what if she does? What’s she gonna do, shoot me?”

“She might at that.”

He gave Cecil a hard shove. “Get goin’. And straighten that lace cap. You’re a mess. I don’t have time to stand around jawin’. I gotta win me some money.”

Billy shook his head as he watched Cecil amble off down the corridor, boots peeking out from beneath his black skirt. It was hard to believe they were related.

• • •

“Not right now, darlin’. Can’t you see I’m busy playing cards?”

Christie leaned closer until her lips grazed Leigh’s ear. “I want that money, and I want it now.”

Thick curls of smoke rose above the table from the gamblers’ cigars, like genies conjured from a lamp.

Two men lifted their gaze from their cards, as if they just noticed her intrusion into the cabin where their private card game was taking place.

The other two continued to study their hand, one, sending feverish glances to the pot every few seconds. Between glances he passed his tongue over his top lip, like a thirst-crazed vagrant, staring at a fresh mountain stream.

Leigh continued to smile without lifting his gaze from his hand. “Too late for that.”

“What do you mean, too late?” Christie attempted to keep her temper in check, but she was fast losing patience.

“I mean,” he said through a tight smile. “It’s being used for a stake in this here card game.”

Blood pumped in her ears. She drew in a sharp breath, lungs gasping for air. “I need that money. It’s for my train ticket home.”

“Don’t worry, you’ll get it back. I’m just borrowing it for a few hours. Think of it as an investment.”

“You didn’t borrow it. You stole it. Borrowing requires consent, and I haven’t given my consent. So hand it over. I’m not leaving here without it.”

“Well, you best pull up a chair then, darlin’.” Leigh said out of the corner of his mouth. “This game is bound to last all night.”

Christie eyed the pot in the center of the table, itching to reach out and grab what was hers. But the stories she’d heard and the serious looks on the gamblers’ faces warned against it.

“What are you doing, Wallace? Call or fold?”

Christie stalked to the door, mumbling curses under her breath. By the time she closed the door, she was fantasizing how she might strangle Leigh in his sleep. Investment, indeed! She might sooner throw her money down one of his worthless mines.

She should march right to the captain and tell him she’d found her thief. But how could she turn in her own cousin? What good would it do? After, she’d only be faced with the problem of bailing him out.

Rotten scoundrel!

Loud voices and laughter drifted down the corridor from the doorway of the saloon.

Christie longed to know what was taking place, but hesitated to disregard Nat’s wishes. He already blamed her for losing Hank. He’d never forgive her if she ruined his chances of catching the Everetts again.

And yet, she could not get him out of her mind. The suspense was killing her. Or perhaps, it was simply the need to put her fears to rest.

Perhaps if she just poked her head in the doorway.

How could it hurt? She didn’t have to go inside. She could take a quick peek — assure herself of his safety, then slip right out again.

As she neared the saloon door, thoughts of the Everetts sent a shiver crawling up her spine. The memory of Billy’s cruel smile and Cecil’s leering glances quickened her pulse, making her feel vulnerable all over again.

But what was she worried about?

Nat was here.

A woman rushed by with her, lacy cap askew, giving Christie a start. Something about her looked oddly familiar. But how could that be true? The dim light in the corridor must be playing tricks on her. She’d have remembered that face. The poor creature was surely the ugliest woman she’d ever seen.

The closer Christie got to the doorway, the faster her blood rushed.

The room throbbed with noise and laughter. It was packed with people — some standing at the long polished bar, some sitting around large round tables on tall-backed red leather chairs.

The air hung hot and heavy.

It smelled of sweat and beer.

Christie spotted Holt, standing above the crowd on the landing, at the far end of the room. His eyes were trained on the opposite end of the room. When she turned, she soon discovered why.

• • •

“Get up.” Nat shoved his Colt against Billy’s right ear. “Real slow, that’s right.” A soft buzz commenced around the tables, but Nat barely heard. There was only him and Billy. He’d dreamed of this moment so long, it didn’t seem real. Except in his dream, Billy didn’t come peaceably. He always went for his gun.

Nat cocked his Colt — willing Billy to do it now — itching for a reason to pull that trigger.

But Billy must have sensed the deadly intent behind his words. He held his hands away from his holster, coming slowly to his feet without so much as a word.

“Now, start heading for the door.”

A high-pitched scream pierced the air, followed by a series of gasps and a shuffling of chairs.

Nat’s gaze sliced across the room in the direction of the commotion.

Cecil stood by the side entrance of the saloon, dressed in some ridiculous getup, holding a knife to the throat of Helena Beaton, a well-known lady of San Francisco society.

Damn!

What was she doing here?

The upper crust usually kept to the ballroom upstairs.

Cecil’s voice grated like a squalling pig. “Drop your gun, Randall, or I’ll slit her wide open.”

Damn!

Where was Christopher? He was supposed to be covering that entrance. So much for their peaceable plan. “In front of all of these witnesses?” Nat shouted back. “You’ll never make it off this boat alive.”

Gamblers slid under tables.

Glasses clinked and silk swished as people scurried to the perimeter of the room.

A hush fell over the saloon.

“I ain’t letting her go ’til you holster that Colt,” Cecil called back.

Billy turned his head. A slow grin spread over his face. “You’d better listen to him Randall.”

Nat’s hand didn’t waver. Out of the corner of his eye, Nat spied Holt working his way closer through the crush of quivering bodies plastered against the wall.

Seconds ticked by.

The panic increased in Cecil’s eyes.

So did the chance of him doing something stupid.

And all this time he had worried about Christie getting in his way.

Then, as if to prove how powerful thoughts can be, she appeared, turning his dream of capturing the Everetts into a nightmare. “Drop the knife, Cecil, and let Mrs. Beaton go, or I’ll be forced to put a very large hole in the back of your skull.” Christie stood behind Cecil with a derringer pointed at his head.

Nat froze.

Fear squeezed the air from his lungs like a hand wringing a sponge. One quick move — that was all it would take for Cecil to turn and slit Christie’s throat.

Hell!

Why hadn’t she stayed in her cabin like he’d told her?

Then, to his amazement, Cecil spread his hands wide, letting the knife clatter to the floor.

Mr. Beaton scrambled to retrieve it.

The look of triumph seeped from Billy’s face.

The sight of Flossie approaching from the direction of the stairs had his green eyes sparking back to life.

“Hold it right there!” Flossie flounced toward Billy, eyes flashing like small brush fires. A swollen cheek disfigured one side of her heavily roughed face. Her voice squeaked like a new saddle in a rainstorm. “Where’s my money, you no account bastard!”

“Can’t you see I’m busy!” Billy roared.

“Are you yelling at me?” Flossie screeched back. “’Cause I’m tired of you yellin’ at me!”

Billy answered with syrupy sarcasm. “Sorry, Floss, didn’t mean to yell, but if you want your money you’d best tell Mr. Randall to lower his gun.”

“You’re not tricking me again.” Flossie cocked her pearl-handled pistol, aiming it at his head. “It took me a long time to save that money. I ain’t about to let you take it.”

“Does this look like a trick? He’s taking me in!” Billy’s eyes darted wildly between the two weapons. “Shoot him! Shoot him now!”

Flossie hesitated, then lifted her gaze above Billy’s head.

“I’ll have to ask you to lower that pistol, ma’am,” Nat drawled calmly, despite the drops of sweat running down his back. There was nothing more dangerous than a hysterical woman with a gun. “You don’t want to hurt anyone now.”

Flossie’s eyes widened, as though she’d just noticed the gun leveled at Billy’s head. Her hand began to shake.

At that moment, Holt, who had been edging his way closer, made a grab for Flossie’s pistol.