Catch Me (12 page)

She rolled her eyes at him, the little minx. “So what if it’s the truth? I’d like to reassure him that I’m safe. Just like you send telegraphs to your mother.”

His neck burned hot. “Who told you about that?”

“Andrew. He said you send one home every month, as regular as clockwork.” She glanced into the street to flash one of her tip-tilted smiles at Andrew. Dean’s head buzzed with anger.

But it hadn’t been Andrew out in the woods with her, feeling her fiery passion come unraveled all over his hands.

At least, not yet.

She’d been awfully insistent on hoarding memories to drive back the horrors of the territorial prison. If he couldn’t provide them, who’s to say she wouldn’t move on to someone else?

He shoved back the thought just as quickly as it popped into his mind. It just didn’t seem like Maggie, as open and honest as she was.

He rubbed his temples, wicking away a few drops of sweat. More trickled down his spine. “You want to send a telegraph? Fine, send a telegraph. Not like you haven’t gotten everything else you’ve wanted on this damned trip.”

Lust flared dark and dangerous in her eyes. “Not everything, I haven’t.”

At the new, breakneck pace Dean set, they came to the next town only a day later. Maggie was as sore through the buttocks and thighs as she could ever remember being. The best she could figure, they’d seen miles of rolling hills covered in low-lying brush and the occasional herd of cattle.

But she wasn’t about to complain. As much as she’d like to delay standing trial, there was something about Ike Linkers that set the fine hairs at the back of her neck to standing on edge. She hadn’t felt like spending more time on the road than necessary since he’d joined their little group.

She’d seen him around Fresh Springs, usually coming or going from the back door of Mr. Masterson’s bank, or lurking in the alley behind his house. Any time Linkers wasn’t working, he disappeared to Tucson, and the womenfolk of the town counted themselves glad for it. She’d talked to Father about having him run out of town, but he’d countered that Mr. Masterson found Linkers useful. His disapproving tone had made Maggie leave the topic alone.

Along with assurances about her wellbeing, she’d confessed to Father in the telegram Dean had allowed her to send that she’d been captured by a bounty hunter and Linkers was now a part of their small party. She wondered if her father would be as sanguine about Linkers knowing the man was spending time so near to his only daughter.

The town they’d ridden into was much nicer than the last, and thank heavens for it. She’d actually had a moment to wander through the mercantile at her leisure. Dean had been at her back, naturally, but that hadn’t bothered her. He’d become a steady comfort against the world at large, even if she hadn’t a snowball’s chance in an Arizona August of figuring him out.

With nary a peek over her shoulder to assure he still followed, she drifted out the door of the store. He stepped up beside her as she smoothed the hair from her forehead. She plunked on her hat to shade against the bright desert sun that blanched the entire town a silvery gray.

“You ready to head on over to the telegraph?” she asked as she tugged the brim a fraction to the side.

He leaned against the wall beside the many-paned windows. “Oh? Now you’re all fired eager? I do believe you called me a whipped boy for stopping us so often.”

She gave a little hop as she twirled and started walking away backward. The town was lined with covered boardwalks, so she felt fairly confident she wouldn’t fall on her face with her little show-off maneuver. “But that was before.”

“Before?” He ambled along after her, walking with a loose-limbed assurance that tingled her in naughty places.

“Before I had my own telegraph I was waiting on.”

“Good to know where your priorities lie.”

As the sidewalk ended for a crossing, she turned to face forward, shoving her hands in her back pockets as she went. “You mean with myself?” She glanced over her shoulder and caught him watching her hands, and more particularly her posterior under them. She bit the inside of her cheek to hold back a smile as she stepped into the dirt street. “Up here,
Elmer.
”

He jerked his head up fast enough that he bobbled the step down. “I hate that name.”

She grinned large enough that her cheeks felt sore with it. “I know,” she said with sighing satisfaction. She didn’t remove her hands from their position in her pockets as she continued their conversation. “But why shouldn’t I be my own priority? Family and me. I don’t have anything else in the world. When you boil a life down to the basics, that’s all anyone has.”

“Sometimes even less than that.” He’d gone dark again, his hand rising to the gun belt that outlined his narrow hips, the other twisting into a loose fist.

They stepped up onto the boardwalk in tandem. “And is that so bad? Father always taught me if you’ve got faith in yourself, everything else would fall into place.”

Dean held open the door to the telegraph office for her. “Your father is ending his days in ill health, broke, his job given away out from under him and with a daughter who’s committed illegal acts to pay for his care. Think that’s what he meant?”

A lancing pain sliced through her breastbone. Her cheeks went heavy. She stopped in the doorway, near enough to kick him in the shins, but managed to hold back. “No. I suppose it’s not.” Her mouth twisted in bitterness. “You’re good at being cruel, aren’t you? The only thing you didn’t mention was Father getting Robert killed in a shootout.”

He sighed and raked a hand through his shaggy hair, leaving rough tracks through it. “I’m sorry, Maggie. That was uncalled for.”

She turned her head away, looking into the dim interior of the Western Union office. This one was larger than most they’d visited, being lodged on one side of a wide room with what looked like a printing press on the other. A counter topped with dark green felt bisected the front section. “It’s the truth. I wouldn’t wish anyone to hold back the truth from me.”

“No?”

She slanted a look out the corner of her eyes. He studied her with care etched in deep grooves about his mouth. “No. An honest life is a good life.”

“I wonder at that.”

“What do you mean?” She wished he’d stop tender footing around whatever it is he wanted to say.

“Even if it were to regard your father?”

She narrowed her eyes and stepped close enough that her shirtfront brushed his. Her throat rushed raw with fierce breaths, out of nowhere, and her neck ran damp with sweat. “Exactly what are you implying?”

Through a long, weighty pause, he said nothing. But he held his ground, looking down at her, and for once his pale blue eyes seemed almost compassionate. Finally, he shook his head. “Nothing. It’s nothing.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“Ike Linkers is a raw piece, isn’t he?”

Her head spun with the dizzying topic change. “What of it? He’s Masterson’s man, that’s nothing to do with Father.”

“But your father and Masterson were cronies at one point.”

She took a step into the office and threw a nasty look at the young clerk who watched them avidly from behind the counter. “I see no relation between them.”

“Just as well.” He’d stepped up behind her, near enough that the heat and raw power of him sank into her awareness. She edged a wary look over her shoulder. “Anything I had to say would only be supposition anyhow.”

Fiddling with her belt buckle, driving the metal spike under her nail, she wondered if she should force it out of him. But something niggled at the back of her brain, assuring her she’d be happier to leave it be. She turned back to the telegraph clerk. “Do you have anything for Maggie Bullock?”

He bobbed his head in an eager nod. “Yes, ma’am.” A quick shuffle through a stack of papers resulted in a folded message. “That’ll be a dollar.”

She held a hand out to Dean, who sighed deeply enough to ruffle the hair at her temple, but plunked the money into her outstretched hand.

She moved to the window as she unfolded it, and Dean allowed her fictive privacy, staying near the counter to write out his newest check-in for Masterson.

Her gaze jumped immediately to the closing, and her eyes stung with tears when she saw it.

ALL MY LOVE, FATHER.

She had to dash them away with her palm and cough her throat clear before she could read the rest.

DO NOT KNOW COLLIER STOP LINKERS IS BAD NEWS STOP GET AWAY AS SOON AS YOU CAN STOP YOUR SAFETY IS MY CONCERN STOP ALL MY LOVE, FATHER.

Her heart tumbled low in her chest, crawling its way down her spine as her eyes prickled with a fresh wash of tears. She refolded the telegram and tapped it against her palm. Not surprising that Father should tell her to get away. If she thought she had half a chance, she’d be running for the hills. But that didn’t seem likely. Even if Dean had permitted her a small measure of freedom, she had no illusions that he’d actually allow her to run away. He had too much riding on bringing her in.

Linkers, however. She drummed her nails on the wooden sill of the office window as she stared out at the busy street. What did it mean that Linkers worked for Masterson? Was there something to Dean’s implications?

Not that there was any point in poking around in that direction. Even if she found out Masterson was an evil man, there was no denying she’d robbed a bank. Two witnesses could testify to the fact. Like it or not, she would serve time. Didn’t matter whether or not Masterson deserved to lead her hometown.

All she knew was that she’d be happy as can be to stay away from that snake, Linkers. She’d stick close to Dean’s side. Though he seemed intent on believing himself the worst sort of scum, it was obvious to anyone the man had a noble streak as wide as Texas.

For all its baseness, her lust had been borne in a true place. She still wanted him. Wanted his body, wanted him to smile at her, wanted to feel his hands and his mouth on her again.

No, sticking close to him would be no hardship at all.

“Ready to go?” He’d snuck up behind her while she’d been lost in thought, but she didn’t startle or jump.

Instead, she turned to look at him, and couldn’t help but think of touching him again. Tasting him this time. Something of her thoughts must have shown on her face, because he went smoky with dark passion. His eyes darkened and he shifted forward into her space.

“Oh, yes,” she murmured. “I am so very ready to go.”

Yet another camp. Yet another campfire.

Dean was about sick of both.

If he never slept next to a fire again, it would be entirely too soon.

He, Maggie and Andrew sat on one side, Ike Linkers on the other. All quite genial, all polite. They’d already conversed about the weather, and how the heat hadn’t quite come to bear on the region, not yet. The recent presidential elections had been touched on briefly, until they’d realized Linkers didn’t even know the name of the current president, much less the candidates running. Everyone had fallen silent, and now they stared at each other. Rather, Linkers grinned at the three of them.

After a moment, he pushed up to his feet and brushed his backside off. “Welp, I’ve got to be attending to nature. Don’t you all run off now, you hear?”

Andrew looked up from the Bowie knife he’d been picking his nails with. The smile he pointed at Ike was as empty as a played-out mine. “Never fear. We’ll be right here.”

The small man popped his suspenders. Dean thought they might have once been blue, but the thick layer of grime encrusting them turned them to a dark brown. After he disappeared into the woods, Andrew flicked the knife. It spun end over end and chunked in a fragmented, rotting stump.

“I don’t like the man. That’s for damned sure.” He cut his gaze over to Maggie. “Pardon my language.”

She waved a hand. “No complaint from this quarter.”

They’d camped in a shallow cutout beside the slow-moving Gila River. The area was light on grass, but the sandy soil would make a relatively comfortable bed down. With a trace of disgust etched on his face, Andrew watched the scrim of trees where Linkers disappeared. “So that’s Willheim Masterson’s right-hand man, is it?”

Maggie nodded. “Sure seems to be. He’s always around. More the skulking type, but everyone knows who he works for.”

“Quite the organization you’re buying into, brother of mine.”

“I’m not buying into anything.” Dean stood and walked to the far edge of the flickering glow of the fire. Dusk drifted into the soft dark of night. “I’m taking a job. I won’t work for Masterson.”

Maggie’s laugh echoed around the small clearing.

Sliding off the fallen log they’d been sitting on, Maggie gathered a small handful of pebbles. With a quick flick of her wrists, she started to juggle them as adeptly as a circus performer. “If you don’t think you’ll be working hand in hand with him, you’ll get a quick lesson. Nothing happens in Fresh Springs without Masterson, my father and Pastor Tavey.”

He dragged a boot tip through the damp sand at the edge of the river. “Who’s Pastor Tavey?”

She tossed a fourth rock into rotation. Her hands were pale, ghostly blurs in the orange glow of the fire. “The Baptist preacher. Nice man. He moved out with his wife to Fresh Springs from Tucson when it was barely more than an idea and still stayed on when she died of fever.”

“Of course.” He didn’t get on well with preachers, never had. Once upon a time, he’d gone to Sunday services, dragged first by his ma and then by Annie, but when it came to rubbing elbows with them, he clammed up. Annie had invited their pastor to supper a couple times, and Dean had barely said five words to the man. He couldn’t begin to imagine how well he’d get on with Mr. Tavey, now that his soul was stained red by so many deaths. And if anyone asked him to repent for killing Whitson, that person was likely to walk away with a busted mouth.

Andrew dug his knife out of the stump. “Nice trick you’ve got there,” he said with a nod toward Maggie’s juggling.

“Isn’t it?” A smug expression swept over her mouth. “Robert taught me. I think I was about thirteen at the time. It wasn’t long after Mother died, after all.”

“Robert?” Andrew prompted.

Her fingers twitched and two of the pebbles fell right through them. “My brother. Died two years ago.” She picked up her stones and started juggling again, but her mouth had fallen out of its smile.

Dean would like to kiss her back into happiness again.

The thought literally knocked him off his feet when he stumbled on a rounded river stone. He had to walk away another couple steps to recover. How very unlike him. Caring for a female out of rote chivalry was one thing. And, yes, he wanted her with a fierce, burning lust that had him picturing her lean body stretched out on fresh linen sheets as he did unspeakably dirty things to her person. But being actively worried about her happiness…

Somewhere along the trail he’d allowed Maggie’s verve to get under his skin.

Linkers melted out of the shadows at the edge of the trees, too near for Dean’s comfort. His hand jumped to his pistol. Again. He’d hoped he could be done with animalistic gun battles.

“She’s a prime ’un, isn’t she?” Linkers said, his gaze trained on Maggie. She looked up at Andrew and the fire dusted her face with a golden light that made her into some sort of pagan goddess. Her clothes should have been mannish, but instead they clung to her slender curves and her small bosom swelled out the rough-spun shirt. The waistcoat she wore did little to conceal the waist he should have taken the time to lick.