The Fall of Rome (21 page)

He dropped his face closer. “Don’t counter me on this, woman.”

She flinched, even though he didn’t yell. His body pressed flush against hers, she felt every muscle in his chest and midsection tense. His restraint was unnerving. She stated the obvious. “You’re angry with me.”

“I’m angry with the situation.”

In the past, their fights had almost always ended in heated lovemaking. Even though they lay skin to skin, even though sex was the last thing on her mind during this volatile moment, her body trembled in remembrance of their shared pleasure. “Every night,” she whispered as emotion clogged her throat.

He eased back.
“What?”

“Two days ago. You asked if I ever thought about those days. How it was between us before it went wrong.” Tears stung her eyes. “I thought about it every night for the last six years.”

He stared down at her a full minute, then blew out a breath. “Goddammit, Kat.” He rolled onto his hack, taking her with him.

She melted against his warm, hard body, fought tears and lost as he wrapped her in his strong embrace. She still felt the mountain of frustration between them, but at least it seemed less daunting.

“You keep knocking me off my feet with one revelation after another. Just do me a favor and go to sleep while I try to find some fucking balance.”

Sleep wouldn’t come easy if at all, but she welcomed a chance to shut down. Baring her soul had been exhausting, and further talk at this point would be fruitless. Rome needed time to absorb and accept her
revelations
. She couldn’t predict how this would all turn out. She was even afraid to hope. For now she clung to Rome’s strength and his assurances that Frankie was safe with Boston. As for Brady . . . She aimed on doing whatever she had to do to end his murdering days, even if it meant defying the man she loved.

Riding across the desert in the dark during a monsoon had been plumb crazy. But after Bulls-Eye had vehemently nixed Itchy s suggestion to seek shelter, no one else in the gang had thought it wise to complain. No one wanted to be pegged a coward. No one wanted to tempt Bulls-Eye’s wrath.

That included Elroy. His cousin’s mood had turned as dangerous as the storm. Elroy knew without asking that he was obsessed with the possibility that Frankie Hart was his daughter. He was obsessed with catching up with Boston Garrett and snatching her away. At any cost.

The gang paid for that obsession somewhere around midnight when Snapper and his horse stumbled blindly into a gully and got swept away by raging waters. Only then had Bulls-Eye relented. With one man down, they took shelter in a sheepherder’s home. Elroy almost wished they’d kept riding. He feared for the owner and his young wife’s lives. Itchy and Boyd had blindfolded and dragged the sheepherder into the barn, where they’d left him tied up in a stall. His woman lay blindfolded and tied to their bed. Mule had gagged her so the gang wouldn’t have to listen to her cries as they raided the couple’s kitchen. The men had fired up the cookstove, seeking heat, hot coffee, and vittles.

Elroy’s slicker hadn’t provided sufficient protection from the heavy rains and now lay abandoned in a heap with his gloves and hat. Soaked to the bone, he sat in the cramped, humble parlor hunkered down in front of the hearth alongside his cousin. He plucked at the wet shirt plastered to his skin, then fanned his chilled fingers in front of the flames.

Rather than his person, Bulls-Eye seemed more concerned with drying out the bundle of letters he’d had in his pocket along with the daguerreotype of Frankie. The man stared at the image, almost as if he were possessed.

Elroy had a bad feeling. A real bad feeling. He swallowed and risked conversation. “See any of you in her, Jed?” The man angled the photo so Elroy could get a look. “All I see is Kat. You?”

Elroy curled his nine good digits into fists, hoping he answered correctly. “You’re right. She’s the spitting image of Kat with those long, dark curls and big, dark eyes. But,” he squinted and peered closer for effect, “but that smile. Sorta ornery, don’t you think? Pegs her as a charmer and a troublemaker. Qualities she could’ve inherited from you.”

“Or Rome Garrett. Or Kat.” Bulls-Eye slid him a look. “But I appreciate the observation.” He narrowed his eyes on the image. “I’m thinking she’s mine. Why else would Kat have gone to such trouble to avoid me?”

Elroy thought it best not to ponder aloud. “No disrespect intended, cousin, but you’re risking your life in pursuit of that little gal. Once you have her, once you have Kat . . . What are you gonna do with them?”

“I’ve got a good deal of money stashed away, Elroy. Figure I’ll take my girls south of the border, purchase a comfortable hacienda.”

More crazy talk. “What if Kat don’t wanna go?”

“I won’t give her a choice. If she refuses, I’ll make her disappear for real and for good, and it’ll just be Frankie and me.”

Elroy thought about what his cousin had done to that barkeep’s toes, the hole he’d plugged between that young sheriffs eyes, the talk of his killing that woman on the train. He hadn’t been thinking on any of that when he’d alerted his cousin of Kat Simmon’s whereabouts. He’d acted, thinking he was rejoining a gang of thieves, not the devil’s spawn. He’d thought his cousin was his salvation, not his ticket to hell.

He thought about Kat cold as a wagon tire and that five-year-old kid being reared by a man with little to no conscience. And what if Bulls-Eye learned the girl wasn’t in fact his, but Rome Garrett’s?

Elroy’s stomach gurgled with dread and remorse. He shuddered.

Bulls-Eye mistook the cause of his shivering. “Hell’s fire, cousin. Move closer to the hearth before you take your death. We’re already one shy of our lucky seven.”

“Speaking of the gang,” Elroy said, voice low. “How do you think they’re going to feel about your retiring?”

“Who said anything about retiring? Just aim on planting roots for my family and lying low for a spell.”

More crazy talk, in Elroy’s estimation. He noted the beads of sweat on the man’s brow, the way he kept working his wounded shoulder. Maybe he was comin’ down with a fever. “You feelin’ alright, Jed?”

“Think I could use some rest.” He stood and shrugged out of his slicker, laid it out to dry alongside the bundle of letters. “Think I’ll curl up in bed with something warm.” He waggled his brows at Elroy, then took off to the room where the sheepherder’s wife lay.

Elroy dropped his head into his hands. Yes, sir. He’d done bought a ticket to hell.

Phoenix

The sun had yet to rise, but London was already dressed and shoveling grounds into a pot. Sleep had been futile. Coffee--strong and black--was imperative. He moved about the saloon’s kitchen as quietly as possible, not wanting to wake the woman upstairs. They’d had a late night. A night fraught with confessions, affection, and a spontaneous overture.

The adventure he’d proposed to Victoria had been audacious. Totally uncharacteristic. He’d been the grounded one, the prudent caretaker for so long, he’d forgotten the thrill of reckless abandon. Last night, he’d punctuated what had to be the shortest courtship in history with a heartfelt proposition. He’d felt like an infatuated youth as opposed to an experienced man--heart pounding, palms sweating--as he’d waited for Victoria’s answer. When she’d asked, in her achingly polite manner, if she could sleep on it, he’d squeezed her trembling hands and calmly responded,
“Of course.”
Inwardly, he’d pitched an impatient, immature fit.
“Shit!”

Saying good night and retiring to his bedroom had been an exercise in supreme restraint. Anticipating one of her nightmares, he’d been ready to rush to her side. Only she never cried out. Either she was too exhausted to dream or London had managed to obliterate memories of an ugly demise with descriptions of a beautiful beginning. Selfishly, he wanted to believe the latter.

Daydreaming about the second, deeper kiss they shared before saying good night, he stooped to light a fire in the bottom chamber of the stove.

“Good morning.”

London bobbled the match, cursed. Amazed at the depth of his distraction, he peered over his shoulder.

Victoria hovered on the threshold. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

Laughing, he shut the cast-iron door and stood. “If Parker were here just now, I believe he’d cry.”

She raised a questioning brow.

“He’s intent on catching me unaware.”

“I spent my life avoiding attention,” she said matter-of-factly. “Were Mr. Parker here just now, I’d console him with the phrase: practice makes perfect.”

Brow furrowed, he moved to the kitchen table and turned up the flame of the lantern, shedding more light on the lovely lady before him. “I hope you don’t think that just because I asked you to remain upstairs yesterday that I expect you to dwell in the shadows.”

Her lips quirked. “I remember it more as an order than a request, but I understand the dictate was rooted in concern.”

“Why, Miss Barrow, I do believe you’re poking fun at me.” He grinned. “I like it.” She broke eye contact, but her shy smile warmed his heart. He noted that, like him, she was fully dressed. “What are you doing up so early?”

“I couldn’t sleep.”

That explained how she’d avoided night terrors. It also meant she hadn’t “slept on” his proposal. He pushed back his disappointment. “Anything you want to talk about?”
The bastard who traumatized you? Your memory loss?
Between what John Fedderman had told him and bits of information gleaned from Victoria herself, he was certain he could fill her in on specifics, and he would. When she asked or when the time felt right. The last thing he wanted was to push her into facing a reality she wasn’t emotionally ready to handle.

She smoothed her palms down the skirt of her blue satin gown, an unconscious tick as if wiping her hands clean. “It’s cowardly of me, but I didn’t want to sleep and relive that awful altercation on the train. I didn’t want to see that man’s face or Tori’s blood. I didn’t want to grapple with the sickening feeling that, if not for me, she’d still be alive.”

“Victoria--”

“I know I need to face what happened, but I didn’t want to do it last night.” She braved his gaze. “I didn’t want to ruin what turned out to be the most special day in my life. The quilt. The kisses.” Her breath hitched. “Everything you did. Everything you said.” She palmed her forehead. “I sound like an idiot.”

She sounded smitten. Her sincerity torched his blood. His inflamed heart battered his ribs. He was worse than smitten.
He
was in love. “I wonder if you realize the magnitude of the compliment you just paid me, Miss Barrow.”

“I only speak the truth. I’ve never known anyone like you.”

“Nor I you.” He approached and lightly grasped her forearms. “I believe you are the most gentle and polite person I have ever met, Victoria. In case you’re having the same thoughts about me, I need to disabuse you of that notion. You do bring out my tender side, but mostly I’m bossy and unbending and on occasion can be an infuriating SOB. Ask my sister or any one of my brothers.”

“I guess that comes from being the oldest,” she said, laying her palms tentatively to his chest. “The caretaker, as you said.”

“Taking charge comes naturally, yes. I just want you to know there are different facets to my personality.” He studied her with interest. “What about you? Are you always so lamblike?”

“I’m not always this . . . fragile. The events of the past two weeks shook my world. But even when I am at my best, I am of a quiet nature.” She scrunched her brow. “Certainly I must be boring compared to the women you usually . . . “ She worried her bottom lip. “Wouldn’t you rather spend your days and nights with someone more exciting?”

He smiled at that. “You are exciting. You make me feel things I’ve never felt before. I haven’t had a sane, typical thought since you walked through my swinging doors.”

“Thus the crazy notion we should marry.”

“No crazier than your marrying a family acquaintance--which, given what I know of your father, doesn’t bode well--a rancher three times your age, a man you’ve never met. We’ve met, Victoria, and we fancy one another.” He smoothed dark waves from her pale, arresting face and experienced almighty lust and affection. “We make a good match. I feel it in my gut, and even though it’s not obvious by looking at this ramshackle saloon, I’m a very successful man because of my dead-on intuition.”

“When you look at me like that,” she said in a breathless voice, “I feel pretty and . . . wanted.”

He brushed his lips over hers. “I’d like to make you feel a lot of things, Victoria. Things I’d rather show you than name. But that involves taking you to bed, and I’d prefer to put a ring on your finger first.”

Her whisper-soft, “Yes,” caressed his heart.

He was almost afraid to voice his hopeful assumption. “Yes, you’ll marry me?”

“Tori Adams offered me a new life when she directed me to your door. I’m thinking . . . I’m thinking we were meant to be.”

“Serendipity.”

She framed his face with her tiny hands and smiled. “I don’t need a fancy wedding, London. I’m awful anxious for our adventure. For the intimacies you want to show me,” she said, cheeks flaming. “Whenever you’re ready--”

“I’m ready.”

“But your family---”

“My brothers are away on business for God knows how long, and my sister is a day’s ride away and near to birthing her first child. If you’re ready, honey, I’m not waiting.”

“What about your niece and nephew? Kaila? They’re here, and they’re family.”

London narrowed his eyes. “Zoe might still smell like skunk.”

“I don’t care.”

He kissed her, a happy, hard smack on the lips. “You’re going to fit right in.”

They blew out of the kitchen as one, then separated. “Where are you going?” she asked as he targeted the swinging doors.

“To spur our adventure. Where are you going?” he asked as she lit for the stairs.

“To prepare for a life in the sunshine.”

Tucson

The monsoon subsided as the night crawled by, but a storm of emotions battered Rome well into the dawn. Murky light peeked through the closed drapes, casting the hotel room in a grayness that matched his mood.