Wild Is the Night (28 page)

“What is it?” Luke asked in disbelief.

Amanda glanced at the bird, then at the Indians. “I think it’s Aesop. A lot of the tribes believe owls are sacred, that they represent a good spirit. At least, it appears that way.” She turned to Luke and smiled. “I think we may have found a way out of here.”

“It’ll take more than that owl to get out of this,” Luke said, but his dubious expression changed as the Indians seemed afraid of Amanda and backed away as she approached. She walked boldly toward Luke and proceeded to untie his hands, and none of them made a move to stop her. Free at last, Luke got to his feet and rubbed his wrists, waiting for an attack, but the tribe kept a respectful distance and muttered to themselves, pointing repeatedly at the owl. Amanda walked easily into the teepee, secured Luke’s gun, then joined him outside the perimeter of the fire.

“Start walking away, and I’ll follow. If something goes wrong, I’ll shout,” she said quietly.

“No,” Luke said firmly. “I’m not going to leave you here.”

Amanda looked at him with a penetrating glance. “I don’t have time to debate this, nor can I afford to take your natural protective male instincts into account. Do as I say, Luke Parker. Otherwise, violence will be our only alternative.”

Luke’s face flushed. She was impossible! He should leave her to these wretched Indians. He turned on his heel and strode past the cottonwoods, got fifteen yards beyond, then stopped. No matter how infuriating Amanda was, he couldn’t leave her alone. The Indians seemed compliant enough, it was true, but half-starved and angry, they could take the offensive at any time. Besides, she had saved his life.

The Indians did nothing. Amanda stepped into the clearing a few moments later, looking as unconcerned as if she was a schoolgirl walking thoughtfully home from a familiar route. Luke was so relieved when she approached that he didn’t know if he wanted to kiss her or strangle her.

He did neither.

“Let’s get out of here before our friends decide Aesop isn’t a god.” Luke took her hand, intending to lead her quickly away from the Indian camp, when Amanda stubbornly shook her head.

“We have to find them a cow,” she said simply. “After all, it was foretold. It is not our place to question destiny.”

Luke’s mouth dropped, and he stared at her as if she’d really lost her sanity this time. “Are you crazy? If we don’t get out of here they might take it into their heads to make us their sacrifice! What are you trying to prove, anyway?”

Amanda gave him the full force of her stare, the one that she used to intimidate professors before dashing their theories to shreds. “I am going to look for a cow. If you don’t care to join me, then I will see you back at the camp. I knew I wouldn’t take to this marriage idea, and this is why. I can make my own decisions, Luke. And I will do so now.”

With that she turned and strode briskly toward the open prairie, looking painfully ridiculous with an owl perched on one shoulder, her hair tied back in a childish braid, and her chin as high as any military man’s. Luke wondered what the sentence was for spouse murder, and decided that no jury would convict him when they heard his side of this story. Thrusting his gun back into the holster, he went after her, reminding himself of one thing.

This is why
he
didn’t take to the marriage idea. And it didn’t look like it was going to get any better.

They found their mounts a short distance away, still sequestered in the trees. The Indians obviously hadn’t gotten to them yet, and they mounted without interference and rode away from the grove. Amanda led the way and kept to her word. Instead of heading back to the wagon train and safety, she rode straight toward the river to continue the course they started that morning. Furious, Luke caught up with her and was about to give her a much needed dressing down, when he reined up his horse in astonishment.

All of the cattle, or almost the entire herd, had gathered at the river, exactly as Amanda had predicted. Hundreds of the handsome Herefords, exhausted from their frenzied run, now drank quietly of the rushing waters or lay at the riverbank in dazed confusion.

Luke turned to Amanda in frank admiration. “I’ve got to hand it to you, woman. You’ve got one hell of a brain.”

She blushed, as pleased—he realized—as most women would have been had he complimented their beauty. “It was nothing, just a bit of deductive reasoning,” she said.

“Whatever it was, I’m impressed,” Luke admitted. “We’ll take one of them to the Indians, then we’ll get some help to ride the herd back. Looks like you saved us days of work.”

Amanda said nothing, but smiled and nodded. They exchanged a long glance, devoid of the tension that usually sparked their discussions. Amanda turned away first, feeling shy and awkward at his approval. She jerked on her reins and indicated the camp.

“I think we should go now, so we can get through before nightfall.”

Luke nodded and joined her. For all the times he’d cursed her unusual gifts, today almost made up for them. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, being married to a genius. Especially once he had made her his.

Chapter
  
18
  

Haskwell read and reread the telegram, unable to believe its contents. Amanda Edison was still alive! Not only had she continued to elude his men, but Butch had given up the chase for the time, because of his partner’s death.

Bitch!
Haskwell crumbled the paper in his fingers, ignoring the startled looks of the poker players around him. Amanda had come to represent everything that was wrong. His investments weren’t panning out; he’d seen that in the paper. A recession, the experts were calling it, but the price of gold and silver had plummeted, making his mining shares almost worthless.

The only place he’d been doing well was at the gambling table. Sam grimaced, then tucked the telegraph inside his jacket. Even his recent winnings seemed tied to a woman. His luck ran good when Honey was with him. The men all loved her, and gold poured in after her singing. He’d bought her a new dress to wear tonight, sapphire blue this time, to set off her raven-black hair and those dark eyes. Yes, Honey was turning out to be a lucrative investment. She still occasionally tried to get away from him, but Sam was too smart for that. He had no intention of letting his good luck charm go.

And now it looked like he’d have to finish off Amanda Edison himself. Tossing down a whiskey, he rose to his feet and started toward the dressing room. He’d have to hire a coach and trace her through Indian country, but none of that overly concerned him. No, it was almost as if she was causing all of this: his losses, his lack of respect from his men. Christ, five years ago no one would have written him such a message, that they were giving up the chase simply because of a dead man. He’d left the West littered with dead men and never looked back.

And he wouldn’t this time. As he approached Honey’s dressing room, he stood outside and smiled as he heard her frantically trying to pick the lock. He waited until the sound of scraping metal stopped, then he slowly opened the door and held out the key.

“Looking for this?”

Honey whirled in shock, a hairpin clutched in her fingers, her dark eyes wide with terror. The hairpin tinkled to the floor. Her face paled at the sight of the outlaw and she stood in the center of the room, wearing the blue sequinned dress with glass diamonds flashing from her ears and throat. Her glossy black hair was piled up on her head, and her eyes were as wide as silver dollars. She was surrounded by roses, all of them blood red—Sam’s favorite color. She looked exactly like what she was: a beautiful young whore.

Sam dangled the key in front of her, enjoying the control he exerted over this lovely creature. “You weren’t thinking of running out on me again,” he smiled, but his eyes were like black ice, cold and unrelentless. “Remember what happened last time.”

“No, Sam, I wasn’t,” Honey lied, licking her lips in fright. “I just…wanted a drink, that’s all. Usually the man comes when I knock, but no one did.”

“A drink.” Sam strode across the lavish dressing room and stopped at a silver champagne bucket. Lifting a white linen towel from the top, he fingered the chilled bottle. “Isn’t this your year, sweet?”

“Oh, I forgot.” Honey giggled nervously, the sound like a tinkling bell. “I’ll have some of that.”

“Let me pour.” Sam filled a tulip-shaped glass, then handed it to the beautiful singer. He watched as she gulped it greedily, trying to numb herself against feeling, against him. The champagne tickled her nose, but she drank as if it was water, emptying the glass and eagerly accepting a second. Her breasts rose and fell with her shallow breathing, betraying her fear, and her skin gleamed a warm white, like the mother-of-pearl handle of his gun.

It made him feel good to see her fear, made him feel more like a man. In the beginning, she had fought him and tried to resist him. Now, except for an occasional attempt at escape, she did anything he wanted.

Anything.

Sam grinned, then slowly removed his gun, taking care not to make the motion obvious. Honey guzzled the champagne, and didn’t notice anything until the gun was pointed at her throat, directly above the glittering choker. She gasped, spilling the wine on the exposed curve of her bare breast, her eyes widening with terror.

“You know, me darlin’, I’m getting a little tired of you trying to run away. Are you unhappy with the way I treat you?” Sam gestured to the dressing room. Beautiful gowns lined the closet and the table was filled with an assortment of perfumes and powders. The scent of roses filled the room, cloying and thick, like the inside of a funeral parlor. “Isn’t it enough for you?”

“Don’t do this, please,” Honey breathed, closing her eyes. The cold feel of metal pressed against her soft, white skin. “I’ll do whatever you want. I promise.”

“Whore.” Sam grinned, lifting the strap of her dress with the nuzzle of the gun. “You’d do anything to save this precious skin, wouldn’t you? It will be a shame to have to kill you after all.”

“No, Sam!” Honey’s eyes opened and she pleaded with him. “I won’t—try to get away again. I just wanted a drink. And I was lonely.” She attempted a smile, but her red lips trembled with fear.

“You were lonely. For me?” Sam asked, enjoying this more and more. Honey nodded frantically, her earrings flashing in the dim gaslights. “Now if I could believe that, darlin’, that might make a difference.”

“I’ll make you believe,” Honey whispered, gasping as the gun slid across her chest, still wet from champagne, to the opposite shoulder strap. Sam removed that one in the same manner, and the blue silk ribbon slid down the other gleaming shoulder, leaving her shoulders bare.

“Yes, it would be a shame to let a pretty woman like you die. But I’ve got to go away on business. And I can’t leave you here alone, you’ve proven that. So I either have to kill you now, or take you with me.”

Honey undid the back of her dress, her fingers shaking. Taking a deep breath to steady her nerves, she let the gown slip down, nearly exposing her pale milky breasts to his heated gaze. “I’ll come with you.” She tried to sound enticing. “We’ll have a good time, Sam. I can make you feel real good.”

Sam grinned, then traced the gun around the shimmering blue material, tugging it even lower. Honey’s breasts spilled out, and he traced the tip of the weapon across each throbbing nipple, then down to her waist. “Take it off,” he whispered hoarsely.

Honey complied, fighting for her life. The dress slid to the floor in a liquid, sapphire puddle. She wore nothing beneath except for black silk stockings and garters, and the sparkling jewelry. She trembled as he placed the gun aside and fondled a breast, brushing his thumb across the tip and making the nipple harder. She was damp when his hand slid lower, to the silky black curls between her legs, her arousal intensified by fright the way a man on his way to the gallows would often get an erection.