When a Texan Gambles (21 page)

SAM WALKED THE STREETS OF DALLAS, NOW EMPTY IN midnight’s silence. Unlike Fort Worth, where bars and drinking lasted until dawn, Dallas operated on an invisible timetable. If Fort Worth was a wild kid, Dallas was a matronly aunt. Though both lay along the Trinity River, Dallas was a trading-post settlement, with mostly only scares of Indian attacks, while Fort Worth was born as a fort with an Indian raid happening as recently as thirty years ago.

A part of Sam wished he was in Fort Worth. The town had always suited him better. Until recently, Dallas provided more of a haven from danger than a place he went to look for trouble. He could change his clothes and move about among the businessmen and shopkeepers without worry of being recognized. He would have guessed that here also lay a safer place for Sarah. Only after tonight, he knew better.

The young Ranger had been right about Reed heading south. But it had been Dallas, not Fort Worth, the outlaw rode toward. Sam planned to be waiting for Reed when he arrived. He had no time to wonder if Reed was gunning for him. Sam needed this problem solved so he could get on with the business of finding Zeb Whitaker before the old buffalo hunter found Sarah.

Sam stopped by a streetlight and lit a thin cigar as he thought of the woman who waited for him a few blocks away. He couldn’t decide if marrying her had been the dumbest thing he’d ever done, or the smartest. He’d been a walking dead man for years, and somehow she’d shaken him awake. Now he seemed to have his full load of worries. But then again, there were a few benefits he hadn’t planned on.

He smiled to himself. She’d surprised him this morning with her request. It took all his concentration to touch her and hold her without taking her to bed. Years of holding back all emotion taught him well, but he wasn’t sure how long he could play her simple game of touching, nothing more. She wanted him near. She wanted him to see her as a woman. She wanted to be held. But she didn’t want him in her bed.

He took a long draw on the cigar and released the smoke. Not yet, he thought with a grin. He’d never courted a woman, but he thought he’d give courting his wife a try.

Sam would hold to his word. He’d wait until she said she was ready. She’d be the one to come to him and beg for a marriage in more than name only. Then he’d love her as he’d never loved a woman and leave her someplace safe. She’d have her home and enough money to live, and he’d have a memory that would last him the rest of his life.

Sarah didn’t know it yet, but she would give him the one thing he thought he’d never have. Men like him didn’t have a chance at anything more than a quick roll in the hay with a woman who charged by the hour. Sarah would give him a glimpse of what life could have been like with a wife. And that glimpse would be enough. It would have to be.

Sam pushed away from the post and moved toward the back alley. He had work to do.

An hour later he stood in a place where his boots stuck to the floor and the smell of filth burned his nostrils. He’d already tried three saloons, and this one looked no more promising than the others. He stood at the comer of a bar nursing a beer, watching those around him. Several men were well into a mean drunk and growing louder. A chubby barmaid, well past thirty, had rubbed against him several times, silently offering more than drinks as she passed. Her blouse lowered with each encounter and the lingering possibility that she would be going home alone obviously bothered her more than anyone else in the bar.

“Ready for another one, mister?” Her ample hip bumped his leg.

She smelled of old potatoes, Sam thought, and found himself longing for the scent of honeysuckle near.

“No, thanks.” He didn’t meet her eyes. He’d learned a long time ago folks seldom remember details about people they don’t face directly. “I’m fine. Just waiting for someone.”

“Name’s Norma, mister.” She winked. “Buy me a drink and I can be your someone.”

“I’ll buy you that drink if you need one, but I’m leaving alone.” Sam didn’t want to give the woman any hope of making future sales. He’d seen women of the night turn crazy mad in a blink when they thought they’d been lead to believe they’d found a man for the night.

She poured herself a drink from the bottle in front of Sam. “Suit yourself. You don’t know what you’re missing.”

He eyed her carefully and thought that he knew exactly what he was missing. A filthy bed, a woman who’d been handled so much she started sighing before the buttons of her blouse were undone, and a hollowness afterward that made him ache inside. He’d rather starve than dine at the likes of her table again.

“Wanna tell me your friend’s name?” She leaned on the bar and crossed her arms just below her breasts. “I might know him. I know most of the men who come in here on a regular basis. I’ve been here for more than ten years.”

“His name’s Reed,” Sam answered, thinking he would have guessed she’d survived in this smoky air for more like twenty years. Her wrinkles were from hard times, not the sun. “A thin fellow with gray salted into his black hair. He’s missing the trigger finger on his right hand.”

Her eyes widened before she shook her head. “Ain’t never heard of a man fitting that description. Lots of men come in here missing body parts since the war. Fingers. Arms. Legs. I’m probably not going to notice a finger gone.”

He thought he heard the hint of fear in her voice. She knew Reed. Sam would bet his life on it. “He’s not my friend, but I need to find him.”

She looked around the bar, hugging herself tighter and straining the material across the back of her blouse. “Look, mister, I ain’t looking for trouble.”

Now he knew she recognized Reed’s name. She might not be the type of woman Reed liked. Too old. Too rounded. But she’d heard about the man. Maybe even seen him.

Sam scanned the room once more. A willowy girl, little more than a child, cleaned off a table in the back. She ran more to Reed’s tastes. “Mind if I ask the other barmaid ? Maybe she has a better memory.”

The woman’s hand shot out and gripped his arm, then turned away in fear when she looked into his eyes. “Don’t ask her,” she stuttered. “She don’t want to remember that man. Leave her be, mister. She ain’t done nobody no harm on this earth.”

Sam didn’t have to ask for the story; he’d heard it in other towns. Reed liked to buy the young ones for the entire night, and the next morning they were lucky if they were still alive. He might only have four fingers left on his right hand, but he could wheel a blade with the best of them.

The thin maid turned as if sensing she was being talked about. For a second her light frame reminded him of Sarah. Then Sam saw the scar that crisscrossed along her cheek.

Sam turned back to the woman who’d called herself Norma. “If I offered you money ...” he began.

“It ain’t worth the price,” she answered.

“If I told you I’m looking to kill Reed?” Sam tried again. “He’s the one who scarred your friend. I’ve seen his work before. I’d like to see that he doesn’t do it again to some other woman.”

She looked at him long and hard, sizing him up as a man. As a gunman. They both knew if she passed information along and Sam didn’t kill Reed, Reed would find out and come after her.

“Where can I find you?” Norma whispered as she leaned too close.

Now it was Sam’s turn. If he told her where he was staying, she could as easily tell Reed as let Sam know Reed was in town. The question was, did she hate Reed more than she feared him? If he’d been alone, Sam might have bet on her hatred, but he couldn’t risk Sarah’s safety on a hunch.

“I’ll be in one of the bars along this street. If you need me, leave word at the Irishman’s place three doors down.” Sam passed her twice the money she would have earned for the night. “Just let him know you’re looking for me. I’ll know why.”

She smiled down at the coins. “And who are you, mister? I didn’t catch your name.”

“I’m Sam,” he risked. “Just Sam.”

She looked up. “I haven’t done anything yet.” She glanced at the thin girl once more. “But I’ll help if I can.” When she turned back, she smiled her flirty grin once more. “Want to come home with me just for some fun? No extra charge.”

Sam shook his head.

“Married, are you?” She giggled. “I’ll never tell.”

Sam declined once more, not even tempted by her offer.

She shrugged. “No harm in asking. I’ve seen men like you before. Married to the core, I call them, till death do them part. Not sure if it’s a blessing or a curse.”

Sam winked at her. “I’ll let you know when this lifetime’s over.”

SEVENTEEN

SARAH AWOKE TRYING TO DECIDE WHICH PART OF her thoughts were dreams and which were realities. They’d spent the first afternoon at the hotel eating and choosing clothes she liked from the dozens brought over by two ladies who ran a small dress shop across from the hotel. She didn’t tell Sam that this was the first time in her life she had gotten new dresses never belonging to anyone else.

As soon as the ladies from the dress shop knew her size, boxes of undergarments, shoes, and hats arrived along with the freshly pressed dresses she’d selected. Sam worked on a stack of papers in the drawing room, but she knew he watched her through the open doorway.

When the third wave of boxes arrived, Sarah hurried to his side as soon as the delivery men left.

She knelt by his chair and whispered, “Stop them, Sam. ”

He offered his knee as a chair for her. “Why?”

“I can’t keep all these things. I’ve never had so much. I can’t carry everything.” Sarah plopped down on the bed and said, “When I was little, I bundled my belongings each night in case I had to move at dawn. Harriet Rainy used to say, ‘I’ve a mind to kick you out, child. You ain’t worth feeding.’ Later, when I went to live with Granny Vee, she’d always warn me that I might have to leave ‘if times got worse.’ Even Mitchell used to yell when he didn’t like the supper, ‘You’re out of here if you don’t cook a better meal next time!’ I kept trying because I didn’t have anywhere else to go if he didn’t want me.”

Sam’s big hand brushed a tear from her cheek, pushing memories aside, as well. “You can own more than you can carry, Sarah.”

“I’ve never had so much.” She leaned against his shoulder, liking the easy way she could touch him. Since he’d held her that morning, a peace had settled between them.

“Me, either,” he whispered against the top of her hair.

He lifted her off his leg and ordered her to try on everything that had been delivered. He said he planned to watch, but a knock at the door called him away.

When he returned, wrinkles crossed his forehead. “I’ll be back in a few hours,” he mumbled as he grabbed his hat. “Stay here. You’ll be safe.” Then he disappeared, saying something about business to take care of without delay.

A few hours later a huge trunk arrived with a note declaring she should fill it and be ready to travel.

Sarah carefully selected each item and packed the trunk. She had no idea where his place was, so she selected warm clothes as well as cool ones. By dark everything was ready if he should return and demand they leave.

Only he didn’t return and Sarah finally dressed in one of her new nightgowns and crawled into bed. She’d wanted him to hold her once more as he had after they’d taken their baths. But twice in one day was probably too much to ask. No wonder he stayed away, she thought. She was definitely a demanding woman.

He didn’t return the next day, but meals were delivered, and the two ladies from the dress shop came to make alterations which Sarah could have done herself. She spent her time resting and eating her fill. On the afternoon of the third day she opened the windows and watched the street below. Roses arrived with her lunch along with a card from Sam. “Wait” was all it said.

By nightfall she’d remade the dress he’d bought her at Mr. Moon’s store and then fell asleep alone once more.

The next morning Sarah smiled in the dawn light, remembering falling asleep listening for the door. This strange man was becoming a part of her life even when he wasn’t around. The memory of the morning he’d held her drifted in her mind.

Her eyes adjusted to the light. As usual, Sam wasn’t beside her. He had not slept in their bed for three nights.

Pulling on her wrapper, she moved to the doorway and looked into the shadowy drawing room. Panic tiptoed along her spine. Something was different.

In the early light she noticed Sam’s reading chair placed a few feet from the hallway door. She hadn’t moved the chair there when she’d checked the lock and gone to bed.

Sarah tiptoed into the drawing room. When she rounded the chair, Sam’s form took shape in the shadowy dawn.

His muddy boots were propped next to his trunk and his arms were folded tightly over his chest.

Sarah silently moved closer and stood beside him. She reached her hand out to wake him, then realized a rifle rested across his legs and another stood within easy reach against the trunk. He hadn’t just fallen asleep in the chair; he stood guard.