When a Texan Gambles (19 page)

“Yes, sir, Mr. Garrett. Nice to have you back.” Dan carried the saddle away.

Sarah wasn’t convinced. “He called you the wrong name.” She held her carpetbag to her with both arms, as if someone might take it away from her by force.

Sam half encouraged, half shoved her into the nearest chair. “Stay right there. I’ll check in.”

When she stared up at him, he added, “I’m only going to the desk. I’ll never be out of your sight. Nothing bad will happen to you here.” Sam placed his holstered Colts over her bag. “Here, you can have my guns.” He smiled. “If anyone bothers you in the next few minutes, feel free to shoot them.”

She frowned, not seeing anything funny in her fear. It occurred to Sam that he was probably the most likely person in the room she’d want to catch within her gun sight.

He sensed her watching him as a man smiled from behind a long desk and offered him a pen. “Welcome back, Mr. Garrett. Will you be staying long?”

“A few days,” Sam answered. “Can you send a man to pick up my horse at the station and have him delivered to the hotel stable?”

“Of course, sir. I’ll also have your trunk sent up from the basement.”

“And ask someone from the dress shop across the street to stop by this afternoon. My wife would like to order a few things.” Sam glanced at Sarah. “Her belongings were destroyed.” The hotel employee didn’t need to know that it had been weeks ago since Sarah’s things burned on the wagon train.

If the man behind the counter noticed Sarah or her ragged dress, he was too professional to comment. “Will there be anything else, Mr. Garrett? I’ve put you in the usual suite.”

“Yes.” Sam shifted. “I’d like two tubs delivered, one set up in each room. the fireplaces built high, and breakfast within the hour.” Sam smiled at Sarah. “We’ve been cold, dirty, and hungry far too long.”

Without another word Sam walked over to Sarah, strapped back on his gun belt, and lifted her bag. Offering his arm, he waited. “Ready, Mrs. Garrett?”

Sarah looked as if she had a few questions, but he guessed the bath sounded so good she would play Mrs. Garrett for a while, if that’s what he wanted. She might not be a woman of the world, but she was a fast learner.

They walked the length of the hotel and climbed a staircase to the second floor. He unlocked the door to a two-room suite and watched her circle the rooms. Though he’d stayed in the room many times, now he saw the place through her eyes. He had planned to bring her here the morning after their marriage, but Reed had stabbed him in the back and changed the agenda. Sam couldn’t help but ponder how different things might be between them if she’d have been able to see this side of him before she saw the dark side. Would she have thought him a gentleman, or at least been willing to accept him as a man?

Sarah remained silent as men hurried around them delivering huge bathtubs and lighting fireplaces in both rooms. The clerk from the front desk brought an armful of mail and stacked it neatly on the desk in the drawing room. When his assistant carried in a trunk, Sam directed it be left beside the desk in the first room.

“We’ll return as soon as the water heats,” the last man said as he left the room.

Sam gave a few extra instructions, then closed the door.

“Is this your house?” she asked with a worried look.

“No.” Sometimes she looked so young. She might think she knew all about doctoring and cooking over a campfire, but she was suddenly out of her element. He could read the uncertainty in her eyes. “I just stay here when I’m in town. They’re used to cattlemen coming in covered in dust.” He glanced at the door leading to the bedroom. “I’ll be working in this room most of the time, so you can have a little privacy in the bedroom.”

Sarah followed him through an open doorway. He walked around the bed and tossed her bag on an overstuffed sofa bed by the window. “You’ve got good light with the drapes open, if you want to stitch up that dress.” He began removing his gun belt.

She stopped him with her hand over his.

Sam grinned. “I can do this myself, Sarah.” She couldn’t have missed the laughter in his words.

“We can’t get comfortable, Sam. You’ve made a mistake. This can’t be where we’re supposed to stay.”

“Yes, it is—at least for the next few nights.”

“But it must be expensive. How will we ever afford such a place?”

“It is expensive and I can afford it,” he answered. “And I plan to enjoy it. I hope you will, too. Not all of life has to be sleeping on the ground or crammed into smoky trains.”

Sarah backed away, glancing around at all the fine things. “But the rugs, the drapes, even the little objects sitting on tables are finer than I’ve ever seen before. Surely no one in his right mind would put such things in a room for rent.”

“Sarah.” He tried to keep his voice kind. “It’s all right. This is our room. No one will kick us out. Unpack your bag.”

“But they don’t even know your name.”

“Here, my name is Garrett. And you are Mrs. Garrett. I find it far easier to move in town without questions if I use Garrett.”

“But that’s not your real name.”

“Maybe it’s as much my name as Gatlin,” he answered.

She lifted first her knife, then her sewing basket from her bag and placed them on a writing desk. “So I married a man who can’t remember his name,” she mumbled as her fingers slid over the soft material of the half-chair, half-bed. “That’s not all bad. At least he’s not the drunk I thought or the shiftless father I feared he was. He’s improving by degree.”

“Sarah?” He waited for her to stop her rambling. “You’re talking to yourself again.”

She faced him, her cheeks red with anger. “My shortcomings seem a far lesser problem in this marriage than yours, if you don’t mind me saying, Sam whatever-your-name-is.”

“I wasn’t criticizing, I was only commenting.” He shoved his hands into his pockets and reminded himself he was not to touch her. “It doesn’t matter about the name. You’re still my wife.”

A light tapping at the door made her jump and reach for the knife.

Sam crossed into the drawing room and opened the door. A line of men in red jackets filed in as Sarah hid the blade within the folds of her skirt.

The men filled both tubs with steaming water, left an assortment of soaps and lotions, and disappeared without a word. Sam collected a towel from the washstand and moved to the door. “There is a lock on this door if you’d feel more comfortable while taking your bath. No one will disturb you. I’ll be in the next room. We can argue after we’re both clean.”

She hurried to the door, and for a moment he thought she might not want to end their discussion, but she only asked, “Would it be all right with you if we left the door open between the rooms?”

Raising one eyebrow, Sam fought down a smile. “I guess. There is a robe in the wardrobe for you to put on after your bath.”

“Who does it belong to?”

“The hotel. They leave it there in case you forgot yours.”

“How nice.” She turned toward the tub, unbuttoning her clothes as she moved toward the steaming tub.

Sam forced himself to go into the other room. He would have liked nothing better than to stay and watch, but at some point she was bound to notice and object. He opened the trunk he kept stored at the hotel and pulled out clean clothes that had been made to fit him. It always felt good staying here ... he heard Sarah splash into the tub ... but never as good as it did right now.

She let out a slight sound.

“You all right?” he yelled, fighting the urge to step around the door and make sure all was well.

“It’s wonderful,” she answered with a laugh. “Oh, Sam, it’s so warm. So very warm and wonderful. And the soaps. They brought my favorite. I’ve never seen such a huge bar.”

Glancing through the stack of mail, he tried to get his mind off the sound of her bathing. He’d ordered the honeysuckle soap delivered because he knew how much she treasured the slim piece of it she carried wrapped inside her bag. He could hear her humming, and from the splashing, she must be washing her hair. He opened another letter, then another, not caring that his bath was getting cold. Anything warmer than the river would be fine.

Finally he undressed. The bandages on his arm and leg were spotted with dried blood and dirty from the trail. Working at the knots was useless. He glanced around, but she had his knife. “Sarah!” he yelled, frustrated.

“Yes?”

“I can’t get the bandages off. Could I borrow your knife?” He was almost at the door when he remembered to wrap a towel around his waist.

“I’ll bring it to you,” she answered as he crossed into the bedroom.

The sight before him stopped his heart. She must have just stood, for water shimmered down her body like liquid silver in the firelight. Her waist and hips were smaller than he’d thought, but her breasts were larger. The beauty of her shook him to his very core.

Without looking up, she reached for her towel and stepped from the tub. When she’d retrieved the knife and turned from the windows, she glanced up and noticed him for the first time.

“Oh, there you are,” she said, as if he’d watched her bathe a hundred times. “I wouldn’t have minded bringing it to you. I need to get out of that water before I wrinkle.” She tucked the corner of the towel around her.

Sam couldn’t have moved if a buffalo herd headed full speed toward him. He stood as she walked closer with the knife.

A foot away she knelt and lifted his towel enough to cut the bandage from his leg. As before, her fingers brushed the skin around his wound as if she somehow thought she could make all the pain go away. And in truth, she could, for he didn’t feel anything at the moment but the touch of her hand along the inside of his leg.

“You’re healing nicely,” she said as she stepped away to toss the bandage in a small trash can by the dainty Victorian writing desk.

Sam knew if he didn’t move fast, she was sure to see how much he wanted her. His body gave away his need for her all too plainly.

He darted out of the room and made it into the tub before he heard her say, “Sam?”

When she walked around the bedroom door, he’d managed to cover himself with a section of the towel that had followed him into the bath.

“Sam.” She smiled. “You forgot the bandage on your arm.”

Sam looked at the wound and decided being a fool was preferable to being embarrassed. “Oh, I did, didn’t I?” He couldn’t remember the last time he’d thought about being embarrassed.

She knelt by the tub and cut the bandage across his arm. Her towel pulled dangerously low over her breasts.

“This wound looks like it may leave a scar.” She brushed her fingers along his arm.

“Sarah,” he managed to whisper. “It will be all right. I think you need to get dressed.” He thought about adding, “before I pull you into this tub with me,” but didn’t. She had no hint of the effect she had on him.

She stood. “Of course, the woman from the dress shop will be here to help me pick out a few new things.”

The top of her breasts were so close he could have easily touched them with his arm. Her skin looked flawless and pink from her bath. Sam closed his eyes and smelled the warm, clean fragrance that always filled his lungs when she was near. Honeysuckle.

He swore he’d buy a case of the soap before they left Dallas. He looked up, enjoying watching her walk to the door.

She glanced back and smiled. And in that smile he saw the truth.

Sarah knew exactly what she was doing. She was slowly torturing him to death.

FIFTEEN

SARAH CLOSED THE DOOR BETWEEN THE TWO ROOMS and leaned against it. She’d never done anything, in her life so brazen, and she wasn’t sure why she’d done it now. Since Sam had kissed her and turned away two nights ago, he’d been acting like he hardly noticed she was a woman. Even when he’d fallen on her in the leaves, he had done nothing improper. She’d been angrier at what he hadn’t tried than at what he’d done.

She didn’t want to be his true wife. She didn’t want to be anyone’s true wife. But a part of her needed him to see her as a woman. Since he had kissed her that night, he acted as though he wasn’t still attracted to her. He held her. Slept next to her. But he didn’t try to kiss her.

The first man in her life to look at her with hungry eyes didn’t seem to want her anymore. Sarah’s pride could not take the blow without fighting back.

Sam’s body hit the door with such force, she jumped away in panic.

He stood in the opening glaring at her. “I thought it would be locked,” he offered in explanation.

Clutching her towel around her, Sarah backed away. She’d gone too far, she thought. She hadn’t meant to tease him to the point of madness. “I wouldn’t have closed it,” she stammered, “if I’d known you wanted it open. This is your room, after all.”

“And you are my wife.” His voice was low as he moved into the room. “After all.”