Wildfire in His Arms (9 page)

Damnit! She'd done so well avoiding people other than the farmers with whom she'd traded fresh game for vegetables, herbs, and ammunition. Degan might think she only ate meat and berries, but she didn't. She knew how to get by on her own, but it wasn't always so easy to cope with the loneliness that came with it. That was why she'd relaxed her guard in Helena. Because she'd been so happy to make a friend. And she'd stayed there longer than she should have.

Degan rode them into town the way she usually entered it. He might even pass by Luella's brothel. Might. She tried not to get her hopes up. But if he did and he didn't stop, she was definitely hopping off her horse. He might not notice before she was through the door of Madam Joe's.

But he stopped, dismounted, and tied the two horses to the post out front. Incredulous, Max dismounted slowly, too slowly. He grabbed the shoulder of her coat and shoved her through the brothel's front door. She started toward the stairs, but glanced back to see that Degan was still standing by the door. She gave him a questioning look.

He nodded at her. “Five minutes, kid. If I regret this favor, you won't like it.”

He was actually going to wait there in the parlor for her? Ecstatic, Max raced upstairs. Escape was just around the corner!

M
AX DIDN
'
T CLOSE THE
door to Luella's room quietly. She meant to, but she rushed into the room too fast. But at least the noise woke Luella. She rolled over in bed, started to smile, but ended up wide-eyed instead.

“What's wrong? You don't usually—”

“I need to borrow your gun.”

Luella nodded toward her bureau. “Top drawer, but where's yours?”

“It got taken—when I got taken. Someone snuck up on me and I only have a minute to get out of here, or he's taking me to jail.”

“Oh, God, the gunfighter? He found you?”

“Yes.”

“But I sent him toward Big Belt! I was sure he'd be up there for weeks looking for you, so I'd have time to warn you when you visited next week.”

“I guess he didn't trust you any more'n he trusts me.” Max stuffed the little derringer in her coat pocket.

Luella had leapt out of bed and opened a few more drawers. “At least let me give you a change of clothes. You're a mess.”

Max chuckled, picturing herself riding away in her friend's scanty attire. “There's no time, Lue, except for this.”

She gave Luella a quick hug that turned into a long one instead. She was going to miss this girl something fierce. And she'd be crying in a moment if she didn't get out of there. With a last squeeze, she turned and headed for the window.

“Don't do anything stupid, Max. That gunfighter looked far too dangerous.”

“I won't have to if I'm quick. I'll get the gun back to you when I can, after I'm sure he's left the area.”

Max was halfway out the window when Luella called out, “Wait! This came yesterday.”

Luella grabbed the letter from her nightstand and rushed over with it. Max stuffed it into her other coat pocket with a big grin. “Thanks. If it's good news, maybe I can actually go home now.”

“I'll miss you,” Luella whispered sadly, but Max was already sliding down the porch roof.

She swung over it on the side where she usually did, dangled for a moment, then dropped to the ground. And froze. Degan was standing there between her and the horses, less than a foot away. Her last damn chance to get away from him and he had to second-guess her
again
?

“Don't pat yourself—” She was reaching for the gun in her pocket, until she noticed his gun was already drawn, so she finished, “Go ahead then, pat yourself on the back. Just tell me
how
you knew?”

“If you'd spared a little thought before you jumped in with both feet, you would already have that answer. Do you think I questioned everyone in town to find out which brothel you visit and which window you like to leave from?”

“You saw me?!” she yelled. “Then why didn't you stop me the other day?”

“Because Marshal Hayes hadn't yet called in the favor I owe him. I merely saw a happy kid leaving a—friend.”

Embarrassment was added to the other furious emotions churning inside her. “Why'd you even let me go up there alone? Just to test me?”

“I guess I'd be disappointed right about now if that were the case.”

“Is that a joke? As if you can feel anything. Tell me you wouldn't have done the same thing in my situation? Go on, tell me!”

“Exiting through an upstairs window wouldn't be my first choice, no, but then I have other tools at my disposal that you don't have.”

“Yeah, well, it was my only choice.”

“You got the favor you asked for. How about we leave it at that? But you came out of there with more than you went in with. I'll take whatever weapon you collected from your friend.”

“I didn't.” Max took a step back.

“That's a bad habit you have, lying.”

He grabbed her coat and reached into the pocket. She hit him with both fists. He still got his hand on the derringer as well as the undergarments that Luella had apparently slipped into her pocket when they were hugging good-bye. Max didn't blush as he stuffed it all into his own pocket. She landed a punch to his cheek instead, then swore, sure that she'd hurt her hand more than she'd hurt him. But it must have been the last straw for him, because he tossed her over his shoulder.

She was so surprised she was rendered speechless. For a moment. But then she screeched, squirmed, flailed, and punched his back, but her blows didn't seem to bother him, so she gave up and used her hands to keep her hat from falling off.

“If you keep wiggling, everyone will figure out you're a girl,” she heard him say in that deep, infuriatingly toneless voice of his.

“Like that matters now!”

“Well, then, you'll just look like a fool, won't you?”

She went still. He must have grabbed the horses' reins because she heard them following him as he walked her down the street like that for what seemed like two, maybe even three humiliating blocks. Every time she tried to lean up to see where he was going, he bounced her on his shoulder so she lost her breath and the will to try again. As if she didn't know where he was going. She wasn't exactly sure where the sheriff's office was, but she couldn't believe he was really going to deposit her there like this.

He entered a building. She heard people talking, then an abrupt silence. Degan slowly slid her down the front of his body, a little too slowly. Suddenly she became aware of him as a man, rather than just an adversary. Feeling all of his muscular chest rubbing against hers as if they were hugging, smelling his hair and neck, she found his nearness highly disconcerting. She wasn't used to being this close to a man.

She gasped as she felt Degan's hands move slowly over her derriere, then the back of her waist. His touch was so intimate her stomach fluttered and her breath quickened. Then she realized what he'd been doing. Checking for weapons!

“You could've just asked,” she said as her feet finally touched the floor.

“Asking doesn't work with you.” He gave her a nudge backward. Breath suspended, she thought she might land on her backside, but she landed in the chair he'd pushed her toward. She huffed until she glanced around and realized they were in a restaurant. Nine people were there having breakfast. They started talking again, and she noticed they made a point of not looking at Degan. Three of them even got up and hurried out of the one-room establishment. A few of them were staring at her. Oh, sure, nothing to fear about
her
.

She slid her chair up to the table and cheekily asked, “You buying? 'Cause I'm broke.”

He hadn't sat down yet. “Take your boots off.”

“Again?!”

“You were right, it was a mistake letting you go to your friend's room alone.”

“I swear—!”

“It's already been established that you lie. You just did so again when you said you're broke. I saw the money in your saddlebag.”

“That's not mine. I could be starving to death and I wouldn't spend that money.”

“A bit extreme,” he replied drily, then nodded at her feet. “Just remove the boots, shake them out, then put them back on. You don't eat until you do.”

She mumbled a few things under her breath but shoved her chair back and did as ordered. She was amazed he was going to feed her before turning her over to the sheriff. She supposed she should be grateful, but she couldn't quite manage to see him as anything but her worst nightmare, and you didn't thank nightmares for tormenting you.

When she slid up to the table again, he walked around behind her and took her hat off. She started to protest but saw him remove his black hat, too, and hook both of them to the coatrack in their corner. The “gentleman” in him was showing again. Her grandmother had always swatted her younger brother's hat off, before letting Johnny sit down to dinner. Max knew her brother only kept it on to get a rise out of Gran. God, she missed those two. They were all she had left in the way of family.

She reached for the letter in her pocket. But as much as she was dying to find out what Gran had written, it was too personal to read in front of this coldhearted gunfighter. It might make her cry, real tears. She was
not
going to let this man know that sometimes she could be—soft.

Degan ran a hand through his dark hair before he returned to the table. Max didn't bother to do the same. She knew her hair was beyond salvation. She didn't even own a comb anymore. Hers had broken long ago and she'd never gotten around to replacing it.

He still hadn't sat down. “I'll take your coat, too.”

“Now
that
ain't hap—”

“It's warm in here. And you no longer need to hide what you are, or hasn't that occurred to you yet?”

Considering what he'd just made her feel as she'd slid down his body, she snapped, “Yeah, I do, and don't
you
be thinking of me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like I'm a girl.”

He said nothing, but he did roll his eyes. At least she was sure he would have if he could unbend enough to show what he was feeling. But he didn't press the issue and sat down to her right in the chair that faced both doors to the room. Cautious no matter where he was? Or just always expecting trouble? Probably the latter, considering that every inch of him screamed that he was a gunfighter.

He summoned a waiter and ordered for both of them without asking her what she wanted. She didn't care. It had been so long since she had sat down in a restaurant, she'd be happy with whatever was served.

“Tell me why you think you're innocent.”

Max went still and stared at him. He'd already implied it wouldn't matter if she was innocent or not, that his job was only to bring her in, not to decide her fate. So why would he even ask that when he didn't believe anything she said?

“Y
OU TOYING WITH ME,
fancy man? We both know you don't give a hoot what set me on this road.” Max clamped her mouth shut after saying that. If Degan's upbringing required him to engage in polite conversation at a dining table, he could find some other subject to bedevil her with.

“Is that what you're going to tell the jury at your trial, Miss Dawson?”

“Don't call me that,” she hissed at him. “And I told you, there won't be a trial. The people in that town just want me back so they can hang me.”

“Why?”

“Because Carl Bingham, the man I'm accused of murdering, was the founder of Bingham Hills, the owner of it, the mayor of it, and everyone's best friend—'cept mine. But with him being the landlord of all or most of the people in town, and a benevolent one to boot, everyone loved him. Actually, even I used to admire him. It took guts to build a town so far from any others and with the closest fort over a day's ride away, then just hope he could fill it up with people. Course Carl advertised back East and didn't go broke waiting for folks to show up. He was already rich when he came to Texas, so he wasn't looking to get richer—maybe he was since he kept building the town bigger. He was looking to leave a legacy behind, a peaceful, self-sufficient town in what used to be a not-so-peaceful place. Most folks think he succeeded.”