An Unlikely Lady (13 page)

The name penetrated through Jesse's muddled brain. He cursed himself for drinking himself senseless and tried to haul his mind back to sobriety.

“The son-of-a-bitch got in a lucky shot, is all. He won't be so lucky when we catch up to him, though.”

“We won't ever catch up to him if you insist on detouring to every liquor stop between here and the border.”

“Oh, we'll catch up to him. And when we do, I'll make him sorry he was ever born.”

“Not before we get our money.”

Jesse caught sight of Jake heading toward the table with a bottle of liquor and a couple of glasses. He glanced up the stairs, then back at the men. The decision shouldn't be so hard: an hour between the sheets with a woman, or a lead on McGuire. This was the break he'd been waiting for, so what the hell was his problem?

Gritting his teeth against Honesty's pull on him, he turned his back on the stairs, relieved Jake of the bottle with a tight “I've got 'em, old man,” and joined their newly arrived customers.

“Evenin', boys.” Jesse set the bottle in the center of the table. “This round's on me.”

The moon hung low and full and sad in a sky as black as tar. With her latest victim snoring obliviously in the bed, Honesty slid her legs off the mattress and onto the floor, then bent to gather her discarded robe. She pushed one leaden arm through a sleeve, then the other, then sat at the edge of the bed, her head bowed, the heels of her hands pressed tightly against the mattress.

She couldn't do this anymore.

Deuce had always said, “If ye lose the edge, lass, get out o' the game.”

She hadn't just lost the edge, she'd plunged right over it. Drugging men, then duping them into believing they'd shared a couple dollars of passionate sex, used to bring her a sense of empowerment. Now, it just left her feeling empty and pathetic. The only thing that had gotten her through the evening was the image of a golden-haired man and a song of the future, but now the dull ache of loneliness she'd felt all night had grown to a painful cramp.

She had to change Jesse's mind.

In just a few hours, he'd ride out of Last Hope and out of her life, and Honesty knew with certainty that he'd be taking more than her best chance at finding the truth.

With renewed strength, she gathered her clothes quickly, then spent the next twenty
minutes in her own room, touching up her lashes and rouge. She'd bring him here tonight. She'd never allowed a man into her room before; it always felt like such an invasion. But she wanted this evening to be special. She refused to think of the sacrifice. Trading her virginity for the truth seemed a small price to pay.

With one last brush of color to her lips, a pat to her freshly coifed hair, and a tug of her corset, she left her room, pausing at the top of the stairs to search the area below. Most of the lamps had been extinguished and nearly all the chairs were empty save a few near the bar, where sleeping bodies were slumped over the table.

Finally, she spotted Jesse standing near a corner table just below the stairs, where two men sat, one lean, one bulky. She couldn't make out their features in the dim lighting, but she hoped they weren't waiting on her—because if they were, they'd be waiting all night.

She belonged to Jesse now.

Honesty lifted her chin and squared her shoulders, and just as she prepared to descend the stairs, the glow from a nearby lamp illuminated the features of one of the men. Honesty gasped. She wrenched herself back into the safety of the shadows and pressed her spine against the wall. Oh, my gosh. Robert? It wasn't possible—he was supposed to be dead!

“Do we know you?” she heard him ask in a voice of such cultured familiarity that it sent chills skittering down her arms. Honesty peered around the corner to assure herself that it was indeed a flesh-and-blood man below, and not a ghost. Her stomach knotted at the vision of slicked-back hair, narrow chin, trim mustache. Oh, God. What was he doing here?

“Not that I'm aware of,” Jesse replied. A chair scraped across the floor as he pulled it free from the table and straddled it. “I couldn't help but overhear your conversation.”

“Yeah? So?” The sarcasm came from the deeper, gruffer voice of Robert's companion.

“It appears that we're looking for the same man.”

“What do you want with him?”
Robert.

“I reckon that's my business.”
Jesse again.

“Word has it that he was headin' up to Leadville.”

“That lyin' son-of-a-bitch. He told us he was headin' south to Tex—”

“Shut up, Roscoe. Where'd you hear that, mister?”

“Same place I heard that the two of you together didn't have enough brains to blow your nose.” From the holster at his side, he withdrew a Colt revolver and aimed it at the bigger man. With a smile that sent shivers down Honesty's spine, Jesse said, “Now, here's the deal—you
tell me where I might find Deuce McGuire, and I might just let you live another day.”

For a moment, Honesty was too stunned to breathe. Never had she seen Jesse draw his weapon; never had she heard such cold determination in his voice.

Then his words registered.

Honesty sank against the wall, every nerve numb, Deuce's name on Jesse's lips a blade of betrayal stabbing through her heart. Oh, God, how could she ever have thought him harmless?

He was far more dangerous than she'd ever imagined.

A
n hour later, Honesty scanned one side of the hallway, then the other. Moonlight from the window at the end of the hall cast a beam of light on the plank floor. Shadows touched the paper roses that once probably looked real enough to smell, but now wilted against the wall in aged dejection.

Assured that the path was clear, she stepped out of her room, then shut the door behind her. She winced at the soft click that echoed in the silence and gave the dim hallway another quick inspection. At half past three in the morning the chances of anyone being up and about were slim, but she didn't dare risk those men or Jesse catching her.

Jesse.

Just the thought of his name brought a fresh surge of contempt twisting inside her. She couldn't believe she'd almost asked him to help her. How could she have been so stupid to think she could trust anyone? Hadn't she seen, over and over again, that men were faithless, traitorous creatures who used any means at their disposal to get what they wanted from a woman? Even Jesse had proved himself no better; after he'd gotten what he'd paid for, she was of no further use to him.

Jesse's betrayal hurt more, because she'd walked in with her eyes wide open and she'd still come out the fool.

Well, no more, she thought, tiptoeing toward the stairs. She was a clever, resourceful woman, capable of finding the flowing stones all by herself. So what if she'd rarely traveled alone before? Hadn't she managed on her own for the last three months, despite the dangers? She had no choice but to risk it again.

Honesty straightened her spine and strode down the hall with confidence. Downstairs, a light shone under the door of Rose's bedroom. Honesty raised her fist, and after the briefest of hesitations, gave the door three short raps.

At the call to enter, Honesty stepped inside. Of all the rooms in the Scarlet Rose, this one was undeniably the plainest—and the loneliest. Not one picture hung on the walls, not one
piece of bric-a-brac cluttered the top of bureau tucked in the corner, or the desk below the window where Rose sat, and there was not a single red item in sight. In fact, everything was pristine white, from the curtains and bedspread to the furniture and the walls, almost as if by wiping the room clean of any shade, Rose might forget for a time the soiled life she led.

Upon her entrance, Rose glanced up and gave Honesty a beaming grin. “Honesty, you won't believe this. We've made more profit in this one night than we have in the last three months!” She clutched a wad of money in her fist and shook it in the air. “And I have you and Jesse to thank. Playing ‘Greensleeves' was a stroke of genius. Those men were so homesick and love-struck, I swear they'd have sold their mothers for comfort. Next time—”

“There won't be a next time, Rose.” Honesty glanced down at her hands. “I'm leaving.”

Taut silence stretched into the corners of the tiny room. “Leaving?”

Honesty could hardly bring herself to look Rose in the eye, but the woman deserved that much, and more. She nodded.

“When?” Rose asked.

“Now.”

Honesty could almost hear the questions churning in the woman's mind, but she asked not a one.

Instead, she said, “Well, I'll admit I expected it to happen one day. Just not this soon. Do you know where you're goin'?”

Honesty nodded again. “I have an idea. I have a favor to ask, though.”

“I'll do what I can.”

“I need transportation.” She opened her hand and let the ruby fall on the desk. “It's all I've got, Rose. It's well worth your mule.”

“Hon, that cantankerous critter isn't worth a tenth of this rock! You could buy a dozen mules with this!” She cast Honesty a speculative glance, then pushed the ring back toward her. “Just put that back in your pocket.”

“Please, Rose. It's . . .” She swallowed the thick knot of emotion in her throat. “It's very special to me. I'll have to sell it sooner or later anyway, and I'd much rather you had it than some stranger.”

“Why don't you just buy a ticket for the stage with your earnings? It'll be leavin' in just a couple hours and it's a whole lot more reliable.”

It was also heading north; she needed to go south. Besides, the stagecoach would naturally be the first place anyone would search. “I prefer the mule, if you're willing to part with him.”

“Believe me, I've been wanting to part with that sorry plug since I got him dumped on me. But hon, I won't take your ring—it just don't feel right.”

Honesty swallowed. How was she going to get out of Last Hope now?

Again she endured searching examination from her friend. “I don't suppose there's anything I can say to change your mind?”

“No,” Honesty answered.

She issued a resigned sigh. “Then take the mule. Take this, too—you earned it, and you'll need it wherever you're going.”

Honesty took the money Rose handed her and turned away with a stab of guilt. Yes, she'd earned it, but it didn't feel right, considering all that Rose had done for her. Nor did it feel right leaving her stuck here to fend for herself. “Come with me, Rose,” she invited on impulse.

“And leave all this?” Rose gestured to her surroundings, then shook her head. “No, Honesty. You go on. Find your dreams.”

“What about you?”

She smiled a watery smile. “I'll be fine. Last Hope ain't ‘Lost Hope' yet.”

Knowing how stubborn Rose could be, Honesty swallowed, then folded the bills Rose had given her and tucked them and her ring between her breasts. She'd tried. It was the best she could do, she thought, and started for the door. As she put her hand on the crystal knob, Rose's soft query brought her to a stop.

“Honesty?”

She turned back.

“I hope you find whatever it is you're lookin' for. But if you don't, you know where to find me.”

Tears threatened to choke Honesty as she looked at the woman who had been there when she'd needed someone most. She'd been scared and tired and grieving when she'd stumbled into Last Hope a few short weeks ago, with nothing to call her own save a worn carpetbag and a few dollars in her shoe.

But Rose had never asked questions or demanded anything Honesty hadn't been willing to give. She'd simply offered her food, shelter, and a place to lick her wounds while she planned her next move.

“Thanks, Rose. For everything.”

Then, before her emotions got the best of her, Honesty walked out of Rose's room, passed the piano where she and Jesse had spent so much time together with steely resolve, and then went through the kitchen.

Outside, darkness lingered and the chirp of crickets filled the air. Honesty paused on the stoop, attacked by a fleeting moment of panic. Though staying here was even more dangerous than setting off into the great unknown, what if her plan was just a fool's errand? How did she even know the flowing stones existed? No one knew Deuce McGuire better than she; he'd been a notorious schemer, a gypsy thief.

He'd also been comforting arms on a difficult night, a soothing voice in a frightening storm, a loyal friend when she'd needed someone to talk to.

No, she thought resolutely, she'd not let doubt or cowardice stop her from seeking whatever “truth” he wanted her to find. Not the pair of ruffians downstairs, not Jesse, not even Rose would stop her from finding the flowing stones.

As Honesty took a determined step toward the paddock, she felt a sudden clamp around her arm just before she was wrenched back against an unyielding body twice her size. A meaty hand clapped over her mouth and muffled her shriek. The sour odors of whiskey and sweat filled her nostrils, along with the more familiar scent of expensive cologne.

“Lookee here, ‘Bert. We didn't have to go huntin' songbirds. The sweet little dove came flyin' straight to us.”

Breathing heavily, Honesty felt her fearful gaze dart between the two faces leering at her, unable to decide which posed more of a danger—the bigger man's brute strength, or Robert's mental cunning.

“Well, well, well,” he said, “if it isn't my long-lost love. As fetching as ever, isn't she, Roscoe?”

She tried to shy away from the hand reaching
out to stroke her hair, but the brute's tight grip prevented her from moving more than an inch.

“Yep. Feisty, too.” Coarse laughter sizzled up her spine. “I knew that low-down piano man was tryin' to hide something from us.”

Robert acknowledged the remark with a flat smile. “Yes, but a beauty such as she cannot remain hidden for long. Now, Honesty, when my brother removes his hand, you will not scream or run if you know what's good for you, is that clear?”