LaceysWay (23 page)

“Maybe it’s got nothing to do with luck,” Pitman growled,
his pale blue eyes boring into Matt’s. “Maybe it’s got something to do with
who’s dealin’ the cards.”

“You calling me a card cheat?” Matt asked, his voice mild.

“Damn right!”

“I reckon you’d have to prove it.”

“I’ll prove it. Let me have a look at that deck.”

With a shrug, Matt pushed the cards toward Pitman, smiling
indulgently as the man examined the cards one by one.

“What seems to be the trouble here?” Tucker demanded in a
low voice.

Matt pushed away from the table, his hand dropping to his
lap. “This man thinks I’m cheating.”

“Are you?”

“Of course not,” Matt replied, and the lie rolled easily off
his tongue.

“If you aren’t happy at this table, move to another one,”
Tucker advised Pitman. “I don’t want any trouble in here.”

“He’s cheating, I tell you,” Pitman insisted.

Tucker reached into his jacket and pulled out a new deck of
cards. “Here, open this one yourself, Toby. It’s a fresh deck. The seal hasn’t
been broken.”

Pitman took the deck and checked the seal, then slid his
thumbnail under the seal, breaking it. He shuffled the cards and dealt them.
Matt almost laughed out loud when he picked up his cards. He had a pair of aces
and a pair of queens. Pitman’s face was livid when he lost the hand to Matt.

Later, at home, Lacey shook her head as Matt told her what
had happened. “Even when he does his own dealing, he can’t win,” Matt said,
laughing. “You should have seen the look on his face when I raked in the pot.”

“I did,” Lacey said soberly. “He looked like he wanted to
kill you.”

“I think he does, Lacey girl. I think he does.”

“Then what are you laughing at?”

“Damned if I know,” Matt said, the laughter dying in his
throat.

“Matt, why don’t we leave this place?”

“And go where? I can’t spend the rest of my life looking
over my shoulder, never knowing when someone will try to collect on that wanted
poster. I can’t live like that, Lacey, and I certainly can’t expect you to.”

“Matt.”

Something in her tone of voice made his heart pound. “What
is it, honey?”

“I’m pregnant.”

“Pregnant!” His eyes moved to her stomach. It was still
flat, and his eyes lifted to her face. Slowly he shook his head, not wanting to
believe her. They didn’t need a baby to complicate matters, not now. “Are you
sure?”

“Yes. Please, let’s get out of here now, before it’s too
late. I want my baby to have a father.”

“Lacey, I can’t leave, not now. Please try to understand.”

“We could go to Kansas.”

“Kansas!” Matt exclaimed. “What the hell would we do in
Kansas?”

Lacey held up a letter she had received from her father that
day. “‘I’m sending this to Salt Creek in the hopes it will find you there
eventually,’” she read. “‘The Apache were rounded up and sent to the
reservation. Blue Willow didn’t like it there and so we went to Kansas.’” Lacey
looked up at Matt. “He says we’re more than welcome to join them. We could lead
a normal life, make a home for our baby.”

It was tempting, Matt mused. Damned tempting, but he
couldn’t spend the rest of his life pretending he was someone else, couldn’t
rest until he knew who had killed the Henderson boy and why.

“Please, Matt.”

“I can’t, Lacey,” he said wearily. “I just can’t.”

She swallowed the sob that rose in her throat. Why was he
being so stubborn? How could finding out who killed Billy Henderson be more
important than the life they could have together, more important than their
child? Hurt and angry, she turned away from him, tears burning her eyes.

Matt mouthed a vague obscenity as he stared at Lacey’s back.
Her slight shoulders were shaking as she fought the urge to cry. Almost, he
changed his mind, but then he thought of the child Lacey carried beneath her
heart. He had to clear his name, if not for his own sake, then for the sake of
his child. He couldn’t go away with Lacey and settle down somewhere, always
waiting for the day when a bounty hunter or a lawman might discover who he was.
He couldn’t live with a price on his head, couldn’t let his son grow up in the
shadow of his unsettled past.

“Maybe you should go to Kansas,” Matt suggested.

“Alone?” Lacey asked in a small voice.

“Yeah. Maybe it would be for the best, for now.”

Lacey nodded.
Don’t send me away, Matt
, her heart
cried in anguish.
I don’t want to live without you.
“Maybe it would be
for the best,” she said, her voice sounding loud in her ears.

“It’s something to think about,” Matt said hoarsely, and
wondered why he was hurting her, why he was hurting himself. She didn’t want to
leave him, he knew that, and he didn’t want her to go. But the words had been
said and he couldn’t call them back. And perhaps it would be for the best.
There was going to be bloodshed before the trouble between himself and Pitman
was settled, and he didn’t want Lacey to get caught in the crossfire.

Turning, Lacey placed her hand on Matt’s arm, determined to
make him see things her way. “Matt, please forget about finding Billy
Henderson’s killer. We’ve been here for months and we’re no closer to finding
out who killed him than we ever were.”

“Pitman killed him,” Matt replied stonily. “All I have to do
is find a way to prove it.”

“And what if you get yourself killed in the meantime?” Lacey
cried. “What then?”

“I’m sure J.J. will take good care of you,” Matt retorted.
“He’s had his eye on you ever since the first day we arrived. And don’t tell me
you haven’t noticed! I’ve seen the way you look at him.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Don’t you?”

“I’ve never looked at anyone but you,” Lacey said, her voice
like frost. “And you know it.”

“Like hell! I’ve seen how the two of you huddle close around
the bar when business is slow. I’ve seen how you smile at him, how he looks at
you.”

Lacey stared at Matt, unable to believe her ears. “You’re
crazy,” she said coldly. “J.J. has nothing to do with this.”

“Doesn’t he? Maybe he’s just what you’ve been looking for.
He’s got plenty of money, enough to give you everything you want. Maybe you
should throw in with him.”

“Maybe I should!” Lacey retorted angrily. “At least then I’d
have a home of my own, a name of my own!”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“We aren’t even legally married,” Lacey exclaimed, her anger
making her reckless. “We were married under fake names, and now we’re living
under an assumed surname. Which one shall I give our child, Matt? The one on
the marriage license or the one on the hotel register?”

“Give him Tucker’s name,” Matt said, biting off each word.
“For all I know, the kid belongs to him!”

Lacey recoiled as if she had been struck. How could he
accuse her of such a dreadful thing? She wanted to cry, to lash out at him, to
hurt him as she had been hurt, but the words would not come. She felt as though
an iron hand were tearing at her insides, squeezing the very breath from her
body. And over and over again she heard the anger in his voice, the cruel
mockery.
For all I know, the kid belongs to him
.

She waited for Matt to apologize, to say he was sorry for
making such a dreadful accusation, to say something, anything, but he remained
mute, his dark eyes cold and distant.

Matt swore under his breath as Lacey’s face went deathly
pale. He had hurt her deeply and he knew it, but it was too late to recall the
words. He had never realized how deeply his jealousy ran until now, never
realized the ugly thoughts that had been lurking in the back of his mind.

That night they slept apart for the first time. Lacey
huddled on her side of the bed, careful not to touch Matt, though she wanted
nothing more than to be in his arms, to have him kiss away her hurt and assure
her that he loved her, that he hadn’t meant what he said, that everything would
be all right between them again. How could he be so stubborn? Why couldn’t he
forget about Billy Henderson? Why couldn’t they go to Kansas and build a new
life together? She wouldn’t mind living under an assumed name if it meant a
chance to live a peaceful life with the man she loved.

She stayed awake a long time, hoping Matt would relent and
take her in his arms, but he remained on his side of the bed, and after a while
she curled into a ball, her hands wrapped protectively around her stomach,
tears coursing down her cheeks like silent rain. That was how she fell asleep.

Matt spent a restless night and woke early, his mood dark
and unsettled. He glanced at Lacey, sleeping as far away from him as she could
get, and he felt his anger rise anew. Why couldn’t she understand how he felt?
Did she have any idea what it was like to know that every bounty hunter and
lawman this side of the Mississippi considered him fair game? Damn!

Slipping out of bed, he dressed quickly and quietly and went
downstairs. Going outside, he leaned against the porch rail, rehashing the
argument they’d had the night before. He had said some nasty things to Lacey,
made accusations that were absurd in the clear light of day. He grinned wryly.
She was pregnant. That took some getting used to. He had never thought of
himself as the fatherly type, but the idea was suddenly exciting. He thought of
waking her, of telling her how sorry he was for all the terrible things he’d
said, and then he decided to let her sleep a little longer. They’d had a rough
night; no doubt she could use the rest.

He was going to be a father. Grinning, he headed for the
Black Horse. Early as it was, he was going to have a drink to celebrate.

He was halfway to the saloon when Toby Pitman and Lige
Tanner fell in on either side of him. Matt swore as he felt the press of a gun
barrel against his side.

“Just keep walkin’,” Pitman advised.

“What do you want, Toby?”

“We’re going to have a little talk, that’s all. When we get
to the corner, cross the street and head for that old shed on the vacant lot
next to Tucker’s place.”

Matt nodded. He felt his muscles tense as Tanner reached
inside his coat and relieved him of his gun.

It was early Sunday morning and there were only a few people
on the street. Pitman nodded affably to old Mrs. Adams as they passed the
boardinghouse, and then they were crossing the street. Tanner unlocked the door
to the shed, and when Matt hesitated, Pitman shoved him inside.

When they were all inside the shed, Tanner closed the door,
then touched a match to an old kerosene lamp hanging from a nail on the back
wall.

“Put your hands behind your back,” Pitman told Matt.

“I thought we were just going to talk,” Matt remarked as
Tanner tied his hands behind his back.

“We are,” Pitman replied. He shoved his gun into the
waistband of his trousers, then stood spraddle-legged, his fists resting on his
hips. “I’m gonna ask you just one more time. Who are you?”

“I told you,” Matt answered evenly. “My name’s Walker.”

Pitman nodded. “I had a feeling you’d be stubborn about
this. Shave him, Lige. Let’s see what he looks like under that beard.”

With a nod, Tanner pulled a straight razor from his pocket
and quickly removed Matt’s beard and moustache, grinning as the blade drew
blood.

Pitman nodded, his pale eyes lighting with recognition as
Tanner finished up.

“Drago,” Pitman muttered. “Why the hell did you come back
here?”

“Why the hell do you think?”

“It was a damn fool thing to do,” Pitman said with a shake
of his head. “We heard you’d escaped, but I never thought you’d be stupid
enough to show your face around here. Lige, go get the sheriff. I reckon he’ll
be pleased as punch when he sees who we’ve got here.”

Lige Tanner looked uncertain. Then, with a shrug, he left
the shed.

“So it was you,” Matt said. “You’re the one who killed
Henderson.”

“We’re through talking,” Pitman said gruffly.

“What I can’t figure out is why,” Matt went on. “He was just
a kid.”

“I said shut up,” Pitman growled, and drawing back his arm,
he drove a meaty fist into Matt’s jaw.

The blow sent Matt reeling backward and he fell heavily. He
uttered a hoarse cry of pain as his arm struck an axe handle, swore aloud as
the weight of his body snapped the bone in his forearm.

Pitman was leaning down to drag Matt to his feet when the
door to the shed creaked open. Without looking up, Pitman called, “Lige, give
me a hand here,” and then he grunted softly and fell forward.

With an effort, Matt rolled out of the way. Glancing toward
the door, he grinned faintly when he saw Susanne Tucker standing there with a
shovel in her hand.

“Get up, quickly,” she urged. “We don’t have much time.”

With a nod, Matt struggled to his feet and followed her out
of the shed. Outside, Susanne dropped the shovel and locked the door. Matt’s
eyes darted warily from side to side, but the streets were still deserted and
no one saw them duck around the side of the Tucker place and enter the house
through the back door.

Inside the kitchen, Matt dropped to his knees, then sat back
on his heels, his face damp with sweat, his arm throbbing with pain.

“What is it?” Susanne asked.

“My arm,” Matt said in a tight voice. “It’s broken.”

“Oh, dear.” She gazed at Matt, not certain what to do next,
the shock of actually venturing outside the house beginning to set in. She had
seen Pitman and Tanner take Matt into the shed and she had known that Matt was
in trouble. Her first thought had been one of satisfaction, and she hoped Toby
Pitman would kill him. After all, Matt had killed Billy. But then she
remembered that Matt was Lacey’s husband, and Lacey had been kind to her. Torn
between a need for vengeance and a need to help her friend’s husband, she had
crept out of the house, not knowing exactly what she was going to do. She
paused at the shed’s back window, and though she hadn’t been able to see anything
because the window had been boarded up, she had been able to hear most of what
was said. Impulsively she had picked up a rusty shovel leaning against the
wall, entered the shed, and hit Toby Pitman over the head. The full impact of
what she had done left her weak and trembling.