Wild Is the Night (34 page)

She slipped down the hallway and paused at the door to Luke’s room, peering down the yawning corridor that was lighted with candles, feeling suddenly shy and uncertain. Her hand tightened on the doorknob, and she almost turned back.

You want him, admit it.
The voice in her head spoke clearly and simply.
You have a chance, Amanda, for the first time in your life, to have what you really want. Don’t botch it.
Stiffening her resolve, she opened the door.

“Amanda—” Luke’s words cut off as he saw her standing in the lamplight. Framed by the doorway, her hair brushed and glistening in the dim light like spun caramel, her mouth the color of a wood rose, and her thin nightgown wafting about her like a hazy cloud, she looked beautiful. Innocent. And adorable. “Come in.”

She obeyed, balancing the tray while Luke closed the door behind her. It was then that she noticed he was wearing the rough buckskins he’d donned earlier, minus a shirt. But he had bathed, and his body glowed with all its perfect muscular symmetry, like a sculpture of Apollo. He had removed his hat, and his hair glowed so black that it seemed to contain blue highlights. His eyes fell to the tray, and Amanda held it out like an offering.

“Pedro made it. I worked through dinner, and I heard you came back late. I thought you might like a picnic in your room.”

He smiled, and it was suddenly all worth it. He reached for the tray, took it and put it on the dressing table, then reached for her. “My God,” he breathed, drawing in the scent of her, mingled with soap and the sweet smell of woman. “I’m so glad you came.” He brushed a light kiss across her lips, her body teasing his naked chest with the thin slip of a nightgown she wore. “Let’s see what Pedro made,” Luke continued huskily, “or I’ll start thanking you now and we’ll never get to the food.”

Amanda felt the heat come to her face, but it wasn’t an embarrassed blush. She curled up in a polished winged chair, her feet tucked beneath her, her eyes wide with curiosity as Luke opened the dishes and displayed the exotic meal. There were platefuls of crisp corn tortillas and bowls of freshly cut tomatoes and peppers on the tray. A separate plate held strips of beef fried with peppers and onions and wrapped with cheese in a soft tortilla that Pedro called
fajitas.
Accompanying the tray was a pitcher of fruit wine that was so sweet and light that it was almost a punch.

“It looks delicious,” Amanda mused, and Luke handed her a filled plate, along with a glass of wine.

Having dinner in a bedroom with a man like Luke was a lot of fun, and certainly not the scandalous activity that some etiquette books pronounced. Giggling, she accepted an offering of fresh sweet orange slices, gasping as the fruit squirted in her mouth. But the sharp, spicy food tasted even better after that, and when Luke refilled her wine cup, she let him, enjoying every moment of the odd feast.

When they’d finished, Luke poured out two cups of thick rich coffee laced with brandy, then they moved to the sofa before the fire. Amanda decided this was definitely a good idea, especially when Luke took her cup and put it aside, and then began to massage her shoulders and neck. Warmed by the fire, the brandy, and the heat from the man beside her, Amanda began to relax, and her body felt as limp as a dish rag. Strange tinglings began in her shoulders, where his talented fingers worked out all the stress and the pain from writing, then continued along her nerve endings until her entire body felt surprisingly renewed. Turning to him slowly, she saw the same emotions reflected in his deep blue eyes and she smiled dreamily.

“Luke, is it right to have a mating urge all the time?”

She saw the amusement dance in his eyes, and a smile twitched at the corner of his mouth. “Why?”

“Because that’s what’s happening to me.”

His smile faded, and his eyes turned hot with desire as he bent down and kissed her. His hand reached up to fondle a sweetly veiled breast, the nipple peeking enticingly through the worn lace. When his hand slid lower, down past a slender waist, through the length of silky chestnut hair that spilled down her back, to cup her rounded bottom, he whispered softly, “Not only is it right, sweetheart, but I intend to keep it that way. Now and forever.”

Chapter
  
21
  

This is what it means to be totally happy.
Amanda stared out of the wagon, shielding her face from the sun, and watching the throngs of people that filled the street. She and Luke had spent the morning making love, then had only climbed out of bed when Pedro called for the third time. Reluctantly, they had agreed to dine at a decent hour for his sake, and now the manservant scoured the shops for fresh produce to make the evening meal.

The wagon creaked to a halt in front of the sheriff’s office. Amanda scurried in the back and withdrew reams of paper, notes, and Aesop’s cage. Luke lifted her down, then reached back inside for the manuscript.

“I’ll join you in a few minutes. I’d like to meet the sheriff and tell him about Haskwell, just in case we need help. You all right?”

He saw the worried look on Amanda’s face, but she nodded easily. “It’s just been such a long time since the last attack that I was starting to hope it was over.”

“It may be,” Luke agreed. “Haskwell may have given up. I know his men weren’t in too good of shape after that stampede. But believe me, where Haskwell’s concerned, I’d rather be overly protective.”

There was something odd in his voice that gave Amanda pause. She started to question him further, when a stout woman dressed in a green silk gown flounced over to the carriage, then stared in gaping awe at Amanda. Her handkerchief fluttered in the breeze and she held it to her breast, as if unable to breathe.

“It
is
you!
The
Fess Tyson! I hope you don’t mind, but I asked Pedro to tell me when you actually arrived. We’re delighted to have you, my dear. I am Marge Meade, head of the Woman’s Committee of Waco. You simply have to join. Wait until I tell the girls!”

She waved her broad pink hand and was quickly joined by several other women. Pedro appeared, shrugging apologetically, his arms laden with groceries. Amanda answered the women’s questions politely and tried to keep a hold onto Aesop’s cage as well as the book, but she was jostled on all sides. She dropped several of the papers and when she tried to retrieve them, the crowd had thickened to the point where she couldn’t move. Luke started toward her, but several men who had been standing nearby and hoping for an introduction seized the opportunity and handed Amanda her manuscript like knights bestowing favor upon their lady.

“You have to autograph my copy of
Oklahoma Revenge
I’ve read that book a hundred times!”

“You’re exactly like Austin described! Do come for dinner. My wife and children would love to meet you!”

“I thought her last book wasn’t her best, but I won’t tell her.”

“What about the new book. When is it due? What is it about?”

Amanda clutched her bird cage in bewilderment. Luke tried to help, but he was thrust out of the way by the crowd. Glaring at the rotund Mrs. Meade, Luke attempted to elbow his way back into the group, while one of the men gave him a disgruntled stare.

“Would you please wait your turn? We all want to meet Fess Tyson.”

“I happen to be her husband!” Luke said through gritted teeth. He impolitely shoved the man aside and joined his wife. “Come on, Amanda, let’s get out of here.”

“But they want to ask about the new book!” Amanda replied, managing to answer the questions and keep hold of her manuscript at the same time. For a writer who’d experienced very little contact with her audience, this was like a mad dream where everything was a little out of control, but heady nevertheless. She described just enough of the book to make it sound enticing, answered queries on research and her relationship with Austin, and parried critical attacks with a gusto that Luke was forced to admire.

He faded into the rear of the crowd, unnoticed by Amanda as she played to her fans. Luke withdrew a cigarette and struck a match on the sole of his boot, his eyes never leaving his wife. It was like she was born for this. For someone without experience with an audience, she handled herself deftly—and was clearly enjoying the attention.

Luke’s mouth burned with the bitter tobacco. He had wanted to live as her husband, the father of her children. He could make the business a huge financial success, that much he’d determined by riding the range and talking with the
vaqueros.
There was a new method of ranching that he’d learned about from a northerner that entailed the use of barbed wire. Already Luke could see how fencing in the property would prevent thievery and result in more mating control. He had ideas of a crossbreed that would mix the sturdiness of the Longhorn with the milk benefits of the Hereford. His plans would turn the Triple Bar into a ranchman’s paradise, even more profitable than it was now. His children would go to the finest schools and meet the right people. He had all the tools to start a decent, quiet life and to regain respectability.

He frowned, then stamped out the match as a handsome young man reached for Amanda’s hand, declaring his devotion. Luke started to barge in, but Amanda laughed sweetly and made the man promise to buy a book before turning her attention to the bartender from the Pecos Saloon. She didn’t need him. Luke strode away, furious, but Amanda didn’t even look up. His plans were secure, all right, but none of them included a wife as a celebrated novelist.

Even a very good one.

“Haskwell?” Sheriff Mendez leafed through a series of poster books on his desk, then paused as he found the name. “Here it is. He has not been to Texas for many years, senor. I would not think you had much to fear.”

Jake moved away from Luke’s side, the large man’s frame blocking the light as he picked up the book and examined the photograph. The picture displayed a handsome man, with jet-black hair and sharp eyes that looked out onto the world with a vengeance. The picture was obviously a vanity photo, taken at a circus with the strange blatant disregard for identification that plagued many outlaws. But unlike the depiction of Sam Bass or Jesse James, this man’s likeness showed no warmth, no humor, no gentleness. Sam Haskwell looked like exactly what he was—a ruthless killer without scruples or a single redeeming factor.

“Normally, I wouldn’t,” Luke continued, examining the picture with renewed anger. “But this man is an exception to every rule. We have reason to believe that he fears my wife could implicate him in a murder. She can’t, but Haskwell doesn’t know that, and hasn’t gotten close enough to find out.”

“Sí,
but to cross the Indian border, just to seek out your wife who is innocent, that is not the work of a known outlaw,” the sheriff argued.

“No,” Luke agreed. “But his men quit the job. One of them probably got killed in a stampede, and it seems the other has given up the chase. If you know anything about Haskwell, he doesn’t like to be thwarted.”

“You seem to have much knowledge of this man,” the sheriff remarked thoughtfully, tugging at his black moustache. “Perhaps there is more we should know?”

“Haskwell killed my mother and sister,” Luke said blandly, ignoring Jake’s look of surprise. “I’ve followed his career for many years now. He always keeps one step ahead of the law, and two steps ahead of his banker. But I’ve never seen him give up a fight. He once tracked a man across the desert for a gambling wrong that cost him two hundred dollars.”

“I can verify that,” Jake stated quietly. “As acting lawman, I ran across Haskwell’s trail more than once. He’s a cruel man, and kills for pleasure as well as profit. He’s the worst kind of sidewinder I’ve ever seen. He particularly likes to abuse women. There was a prostitute he took a fancy to a few years back. Made her life hell. The girl finally killed herself, just to get away from him.” Jake shook his head gruffly. “I found her body. She was just fifteen.”