Cinnamon and Roses (18 page)

Unless he had another idea of how to spend the evening hours.
Her blood heated at the
very
thought. She buried her face in the patch of soft, cool satin in her hands and waited for the uncontrollable leap of passion to die down.

"That bastard!
First he fucks her,
then
he marries her."

Sabrina Leslie paced back and forth across the dirty cabin. Mud, dust, and mouse droppings covered the floor, discoloring the hem of her pink taffeta gown. She gave no notice to the conditions around her, her mind too set on revenge.

"Word is
,
she's got him wrapped around her little finger. The whole town's
talkin
’ about the rings he bought her. Most expensive set they had."

Sabrina stopped and fixed her gaze on the man speaking. He was leaning back on two legs of his chair, a big chaw of tobacco
bulging
his lower lip. He moved his head only a fraction of an inch to spit and didn't seem to notice the long line of saliva dripping down his chin.

She reminded herself that she needed to keep him around only until Rebecca Adams was good and dead. Then she would be back in Caleb's arms, able to have the finest of everything.

No longer would she have to reside in this hovel. No more beans and bacon for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Soon Rebecca would be gone, and she could once again seduce Caleb into her bed.

She, not that mousy Rebecca, deserved to be taken care of by such a prestigious, wealthy man. Not to mention such an attractive, virile one, perhaps the best lover she'd ever had.

True, she hated Leavenworth.
Kansas
was swelteringly hot, especially at the end of August. And there was nothing here, only dust and heat and vulgar cowhands. She would have to convince Caleb to go back to New York City, ill father or no. She couldn't possibly survive out here much longer.

A bead of sweat ran between her breasts, adding to her discomfort. She tugged at her bodice and ran a hand over the pile of tangled hair atop her head. There wasn't even a mirror in this hellhole, so she couldn't curl and arrange her tresses properly. She had to take Bart's word that the walnut coloring hadn't begun to wash out.

With her light blond hair now as black as coal and her usual style of makeup redone, nobody would ever suspect that she was still in town, simply in hiding. She'd even been brave enough to walk down the street a few afternoons ago, and no one had recognized her. Oh, she'd gotten a dozen lustful looks from the men—had even considered ducking behind a building with one of them for a few gold pieces—but they hadn't actually known she was Sabrina Leslie from New York City. Next week she would go to the boarding house and rent a room. That way she would be better able to keep an ear bent to the local gossip. And it would get her off Bart's flea-ridden bedroll onto a real mattress.

A real bed.
A clean room.
Oh, what she wouldn't do for those things. The thought made her groan aloud.

The front legs of Bart's chair hit the floor with a thump. He looked at her with what passed for a smile on his lips, brown tobacco juice soaking his teeth.
“You
wantin
’
somethin
’ over there, honey? ‘cause
old Bart here would be happy to give it to you."

Sabrina almost snapped. She nearly told him that she didn't want his filthy, callused hands on her body, didn't want the stench of his breath stinging her eyes and nostrils. But if she did that, he would never help her. And it was imperative that she have someone to do her dirty work for her.

Bart wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. She could feel his hardness pressing against her, straining against the confines of his trousers. She turned her head away from his seeking mouth, still filled with chaw.

"Wait. You have to promise to do something for me."

"Oh, I'm
gonna
do
somethin
’ for
ya
, honey."

"I want you to get rid of her."

"Aw, I already got
ya
your damn information."

"But I want you to get rid of her.” Sabrina ran a long, red fingernail down his unshaved cheek, speaking in a caressing tone. “She has to be gone, Bart. And when she is, I'll make it worth your while.” She moaned in his ear, long and breathless. “It will be so good.
So good."

Bart swore and lowered her to the hard plank floor, pushing her skirt up with one hand, fumbling to open his pants with the other. His throbbing length popped free, and he held it for a moment, still trying to get through the layers of her gown.

"Promise me,” Sabrina cried, frenzy and desperation beginning to pulsate through her body. Now she wanted it, too. But Bart had to promise first. “Caleb and his father will be at work. Rebecca will be at home. You can go there and kill her. Kill her, Bart. Kill her!"

"Kill her,” Bart repeated mindlessly, driving into her, his movements fast and furious.

"Promise me!” Sabrina screamed, the waves of orgasm washing over her.

Bart's thrusts became even more hurried, his mouth dripping discolored saliva. His breathing was quick, but he managed one word before stiffening and spilling inside her.
“Promise."

When no one showed up at five o'clock for dinner, Rebecca began taking peeks out the front window between stitches in a seam of Mary Archer's dress. By seven she was pacing the length of the parlor and going out on the porch every few minutes to search the horizon for some sign of Caleb. And at nine, she went for her coat, ready to ride into town and get the marshal.

She had just fumbled with the first button when she heard an approaching wagon in the distance. Reaching for a lantern, she ran to the porch and held the light high over her head.
For a long time she saw nothing, but then the faint outline of a buckboard came into view.

She held her breath until she could see Caleb's form clearly on the seat. Holbrook had the reins, though. And where was Megan? It was unusual for her not to be kneeling in the back, chattering away.

Rebecca hung the lantern from a hook on one of the porch supports and ran down into the yard. She threw open the gate and waited until Holbrook brought the wagon to a halt beside her.

Caleb turned and leapt awkwardly to the ground. That was when she noticed the thick white bandage around his wrist.

"What happened? And where's Megan?” she asked, worriedly clutching the side of the buckboard.
“Oh, my God."

Megan lay in the back, wrapped like a baby in layers of blankets and quilts. A wide band of gauze was wound around her head. Even in the darkness, Rebecca could see the ghostly pallor of her face.

"What happened?” she asked again.

Caleb dropped the tailgate and climbed up. He lifted Megan gently in his arms and hopped back down to the ground. “We had a little trouble on the way into town this morning."

A million questions swirled through Rebecca's brain, but she knew Caleb would tell her the whole story in due time. The most important thing was to get Megan inside.

She followed Caleb to Megan's room and helped him tuck his sister safely into bed. She touched the back of her hand to the girl's forehead, glad to feel no sign of fever. She still had no idea what had occurred or what condition Megan was really in. Finally Caleb took her arm and guided her downstairs.

Holbrook sat behind his desk in the study, a glass of brandy in his hand. His skin seemed whiter than usual, and his hands shook.

The clink of glass against glass was the only sound in the room as Caleb poured himself a drink. Rebecca noticed that he, too, was shaking.

Her stomach clenched. Caleb was a strong man who could remain as unemotional as a plaster statue even in the direst of circumstances. Seeing him like this, she knew that whatever had happened must have been very serious.

"Will you please tell me what happened now?” she insisted.

"Megan was shot."

Rebecca's heart stopped. Her mouth fell open, and she staggered a few steps. A chair bumped the back of her knees, and she dropped into it, glad to have something to support her.

Caleb tossed back his brandy and poured another.
“About two miles outside of town.
We heard a crack, and the horses went wild."

"We were all thrown,” Holbrook added.

"It took me a few minutes to realize Megan wasn't up and brushing herself off. Then I saw the blood. It was running down her face, soaking the front of her dress. I thought for sure she was dead."

Rebecca noticed the lines of worry and fatigue around her husband's eyes. She wanted to wrap her arms around him and comfort him, but she couldn't seem to move. Shock still raced through her veins.

"Turns out the blood
was
from her arm, not her chest,” Holbrook clarified.

"But her head..."

Caleb nodded. “The bullet grazed her above the temple. If she hadn't put her arm up to shade her eyes from the glare of the sun..."

His words tapered off, and Rebecca saw a muscle in his jaw convulse. “If her arm hadn't been there, Megan could have been killed. As it is, the doctor says she has to be watched for a few days to make sure the injury didn't do more damage than we think."

Caleb swallowed, and Rebecca thought he might be about to cry. Instead, he chuckled. “Boy, when she woke up in Doc Meade's office, she was fit to be tied. She nearly brought down the roof, yelling for the marshal to catch the
weaselly
bastard who shot her."

Holbrook laughed, too, and Rebecca's terror began to wane.

"She's exhausted now, though, poor girl.” Holbrook stood and came around his desk. “And I'd best be getting to bed, too. Wake me if there's any change."

Caleb nodded to his father and gulped down another three fingers of the strongest liquor in the house.

When they were alone, Rebecca went to his side and squeezed his arm. His fingers were white against the glass in his hand. She wrapped her arms around his waist and laid her cheek on his back.

"She'll be all right, Caleb. Otherwise Doc Meade wouldn't have let you bring her home."

His body remained rigid, every muscle tense. She felt the uneven rhythm of his breathing and knew it echoed the erratic beat of his heart.

"She could have died,” he said. The words were low and choked.

"But she didn't.” She turned him to face her. The brown of his eyes shimmered with a mist of unshed tears. “Caleb, she's going to be fine. I know she is."

"Sure she can be a pain,” he said, his voice strained and ragged, “but she's my sister, and I love her. God, Rebecca, I don't know what I'd do if I lost her."

His arms closed around her like a vise, and her toes barely touched the floor.

She kissed his cheek and ran her fingers through the hair at the back of his neck. “You won't lose her. She's going to be fine."

She whispered words of comfort, anything she could think of that might relieve his tortured mind. She ran her hands over his back and hugged his neck. His grip never loosened.

They stood in the middle of the study, holding tight to each other, until the oil lamps burned low and cast them into darkness. Then they slowly made their way upstairs, arm in arm, and held each other through the rest of the night.

*
    
*
    
*

Rebecca pushed open the door with her hip. She turned around, ready to deposit the large serving tray on the trunk at the foot of the bed.
when
she spotted Megan trying to escape.

"You get back in that bed this instant."

Megan looked sheepish and tucked her dangling leg back under the covers. “I feel fine,” she whined.

"The doctor said you needed rest. And Caleb insists you stay in bed for at least another day."

Megan punched the mattress and gave a tortured sigh. “I wish Caleb had conked his head when he fell out of the wagon. Then he would have to stay in bed, too."

Rebecca handed her a glass of milk and plate of buttered toast. “If it will make you feel better, I can tell you that Caleb's wrist is giving him no end of trouble. He can't even lift a cup of coffee without filling the room with expletives."

"Good.” Megan smiled and took a sip of milk. “Have they found the person yet who tried to kill us?"

Rebecca's muscles tensed at the blunt question. She still hadn't quite recovered from the idea that someone might actually want to do Megan or one of the other
Adamses
harm.

"Not yet. The marshal really doesn't have much to go on. But he's keeping his ears open in case someone comes into town bragging about the incident."

Megan snorted. “Not bloody likely."

Rebecca nodded in agreement.

"Can't I please get up?” Megan pleaded. “I'm going to become permanently attached to this mattress if I don't walk around soon. My bottom is already numb."

"No.” Rebecca shook her head. “But I do have a bit of a surprise for you."

Megan sat up, her face lighting with anticipation.

Rebecca reached under the serving tray. “Caleb told me to bring these for you. But you have to hide them from your father."

"Oh.” She clutched the flimsy paper magazines to her chest. “I can't wait to read them. The heroes are so wonderful."

"Caleb thought you'd enjoy them.” Rebecca picked up the tray and went to the door. “Now be sure to finish your breakfast."

Megan nodded, but Rebecca knew she was already caught up in her newest romantic adventure. She smiled and made her way downstairs.

Caleb had decided not to go to work, leaving Holbrook alone at the Express. She filled a cup with coffee and took it to him in the study.

He looked up from the papers on the desk. “How is she?"

"Bored and impatient, as usual.
She was half out of bed when I walked in."

"If I have to sit on her, that girl is going to stay in bed."

"Caleb, the doctor examined her yesterday and said she was just fine. You're the one making her rest an extra day."

"What if she just thinks she feels all right? The minute she takes a step, she could fall flat on her face."

Rebecca laughed. “I hardly think so. And it's not as if she's threatening to race you to town. She just wants to get dressed and maybe have dinner with the family for a change."

He took a sip of steaming black coffee. His brows knit together, and he asked, “Do you think she's well enough for that?"

"I think she's going to jump out the window if you don't let her move around a bit."

"All right.
But keep an eye on her. If she looks pale or sways on her feet or—"

"Caleb!” She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him.

"All right, all right.”
He waved his hands in surrender.

"Tell her she can come down for supper. But it's right back to bed after that."

Rebecca dropped into the chair behind her and leaned back, relaxed now in this male environment. “Have you heard anything yet from Marshal Thompson?"

He shook his head. “They're never going to catch the bastard."

"Who would want to hurt Megan? She's a sweet, innocent young girl. Besides, she's only been here for three months, and she seldom even goes into town. Who could possibly hate her enough to shoot at her?"

"I don't know. The more I think about it, the more I wonder if they might have hit Megan by accident."

She straightened in the chair, leaning forward a bit. “What do you mean?"

"I think the bullet was meant for me.
Or Dad."

"You?
Why would anyone want to hurt you or your father?"

"I don't know. Dad never angered anyone but Mother. It's much more likely that I offended someone."

"That's true enough,” Rebecca said teasingly. “I've considered shooting you myself.” Then she gasped, realizing that she had indeed had the opportunity to sneak out of the house and try to kill him and wondering if he, with his untrusting heart, might suspect that.

Caleb chuckled. “Don't look so worried. I know you've damned my worthless hide more than a few times. I hardly think you were the one to ambush us, however.” He took another drink and ran his fingers through his uncombed hair. “Even if you were angry enough to hurt me—and had the guts to do it—you'd never endanger Dad or Megan."

Rebecca was glad he trusted her at least that much.

"Besides,” he continued, “you'd choose something much more appropriate. Perhaps you'd put a pillow over my face and leave me dead in my own bed."

"
Hmph
.”
She turned her face and pretended to be pre-occupied with the sunlight glinting off the row of finely etched crystal decanters.

Caleb rose and came around the desk, pulling her up from her chair. “Now, if you would be so kind as to tell Megan she will be expected for dinner, I think I'll go into town and help my father. I'm feeling much better than I did this morning."

And with that he leaned over and kissed Rebecca for so long that her knees grew weak, and she was glad of the chair beneath her.

With her head cocked to one side, Sabrina Leslie pretended to be studying a display of fabrics near the door of the mercantile. The best place to get information, she'd learned, was at the general store. And she couldn't wait to hear about the discovery of Rebecca's mutilated body.

Bart was supposed to have done the deed yesterday. She could almost picture it in her mind.
Rebecca alone in that big, fancy house.
Bart sneaking up from behind and putting a knife to her throat.
Making her suffer before delivering the final, deadly blow.

The image made Sabrina draw a sharp breath. The thought aroused her almost unbearably, and she clenched her thighs together. As soon as she heard today's gossip, she would have to visit Bart. He wasn't her first choice, but he was the easiest to find. And until she had Caleb back, he would have to do.

Inside the store, the ladies gathered. Outside, the town's oldest male residents sat on a worn bench to discuss the latest happenings. While the women whispered behind their hands, too polite to spread rumors outright, the men quite loudly passed the time jawing. So rather than risk trying to infiltrate the tight knot of ladies at the back of the store, Sabrina preferred to listen to the tall tales out front.