A Big Sky Christmas (10 page)

Savannah felt a tingle of alarm as the latch clicked shut. “Please, Mr. Kane—”

“Gideon.”

“Please, Mr. Kane,” she repeated, “it's inappropriate enough for the two of us to be alone in here. To have the door closed is simply unacceptable.”

“Not to me. However, I don't want to make you uncomfortable. I'll step out into the hall if you'll agree to have a late supper with me.”

“I didn't know any restaurants were still open.”

Kane shook his head. “I'm not talking about going to a restaurant. My carriage is right outside the theater. We'll go to my house. I've already sent one of my men with word for my cook to prepare a meal—”

Savannah was shaking her head. “No, I simply couldn't do that. It wouldn't be proper. We just met tonight.”

She saw the fingers of his hand holding the hat tighten a little on the expensive material.

“When I see something I want, it doesn't take me long to make up my mind to have it. Besides, I'm willing to purchase a large block of tickets for every performance, and from the way O'Hanlon talked when I asked him about you, the troupe can use the money. You won't have to do anything . . . unpleasant . . . to insure those sales, Miss McCoy, I can promise you that. Actually, I think you'd thoroughly enjoy spending time with me.”

He stepped closer to her, and if his blatant lechery hadn't been enough to start her heart pounding with anger and fear already, that would have done it.

Once again the wild thought that this was like something out of a melodrama crossed her mind as she said coldly, “I think you've mistaken the sort of woman I am, Mr. Kane.”

He smiled. “I doubt it. What can I do to get you to call me Gideon?”

“Nothing. The only thing I want you to do for me is to leave this dressing room.”

“Not until I get what I came here for. At least part of it, anyway.” He tossed the hat onto the dressing table and reached for her. “A kiss, at the very least—”

Savannah had dealt with persistent, unwanted suitors before. She supposed every woman in the theater had at one time or another. Somehow, though, she sensed that Gideon Kane was more dangerous than most.

She didn't hesitate. She still wore Juliet's slippers, but that didn't stop her from kicking him in the groin.

The blow seemed to take him completely by surprise. As her heel sunk into his flesh, he grunted in pain and bent forward. His hand shot out, grabbed the dressing gown, and ripped it open. Some of the costume came with it, exposing even more of Savannah's skin. She jerked back and pulled free from him, and while he was off-balance she gave him a hard shove that sent him falling back toward the door. He landed against it with a heavy thud.

Close by in the backstage corridor, Cyrus called worriedly, “Savannah, are you all right?”

Kane held one hand to his painful nether region while the other pressed against the wall to hold himself up. He glared at her and grated, “You little bi. . . .”

“Cyrus!” Savannah called.

He flung the door open and stood in the doorway with several members of the troupe crowding up behind him, including a couple burly stagehands. “Are you all right, lass?” Still wearing Romeo's costume, he put his hand on the hilt of the prop sword that hung sheathed at his waist.

“I'm fine,” Savannah said as she pulled her garments closed again, calling on her skills as an actress to sound a lot more calm than she really felt. “Mr. Kane was just leaving.”

Kane said, “You'll—”

“Regret this?” Savannah interrupted him. She shook her head. “I don't think so.”

“Good night, Mr. Kane,” Cyrus said. “The time for backstage visits is over.”

Kane glared murderously at both of them, then straightened with a visible effort and stepped unsteadily toward the door. Cyrus moved aside to let him out.

“Oh, wait!” Savannah picked up Kane's hat from the dressing table, and when he turned back toward her, she tossed it to him. “You wouldn't want to forget your hat.”

He caught it awkwardly, and his glare grew even darker. He put the hat on and moved slowly past the members of the troupe in the hallway, all of whom frowned menacingly at him.

Dollie looked like she would have cheerfully taken a knife to him and carved him up like a turkey.

When Kane was gone, Savannah said, “I'm sorry about the tickets he promised to buy, Cyrus. I know the troupe could use the money.”

Before Cyrus could reply, Dollie said briskly, “Nonsense. We don't need the money of scoundrels like that. Did he hurt you, dear?”

“He never laid a finger on me,” Savannah replied honestly. “Well, except when he kissed the back of my hand.”

“He what?” Cyrus exclaimed. “What does he think this is, some French farce?”

“Never mind about that.” Dollie took her husband's arm. “Come on, everyone. Let's let Savannah get dressed. We'll see you back at the hotel, dear.”

“Of course,” Savannah said with a nod.

The others left, and she closed the door and quickly got dressed in her regular clothes. As she did, she worried about what Gideon Kane might do. He hadn't struck her as the sort of man to just forget about what had happened tonight.

Even though she had no proof that he was as rich and powerful as he'd said, she didn't doubt it for a second. It took real wealth for a man to display the sort of cruel, careless arrogance that he had. As usual, when the will of someone like that was thwarted, he had started to bluster and threaten.

It was possible that Kane might go to the owner of the theater and pressure the man to cancel the rest of the troupe's engagement and refuse to pay them. She had seen men employ tactics like that before when they held a grudge.

Actually, it was the sort of thing her father might have done if someone angered him, although William Thorpe would never make improper advances toward a young woman.

Savannah stepped out of the dressing room and looked for the others. She didn't see anyone backstage, so she supposed they were waiting for her out front.

But Dollie had said they would see her back at the hotel, Savannah recalled. They could have gone on, figuring that she would catch up with them. The hotel was less than two blocks away, after all.

Even so, she felt nervous as she walked through the darkened theater. Her footsteps echoed from the cavernous ceiling. Lamps still burned here and there, casting enough light for her to see her way without any trouble.

An old man was sweeping up. He nodded to her as she passed. “Good night, miss.”

“Good night,” Savannah told him. For a second she thought about asking him if he would walk her back to the hotel, but then she discarded that idea. That wasn't his job, and she didn't want to inconvenience him.

She went out through the theater lobby, past the box office, and stepped onto the sidewalk. The street was fairly dark, but again, she could see well enough to get where she was going. From where she stood, the hotel was even visible a short distance up the street, a warm yellow glow coming from its lobby windows.

There was also enough light for her to see the carriage that suddenly pulled up beside her and stopped on the cobblestone street. Two men, large and threatening in the gloom, stepped out of it, and one of them rumbled, “You're comin' with us, Miss McCoy.”

Bodie couldn't get Savannah McCoy out of his mind. From the theater he and Jake had gone to the Bella Royale for a drink and to see if any of the other boys were there. The saloon had become the gang's unofficial headquarters while they were in Kansas City waiting for Eldon Swint to divide the loot.

Bodie nursed a beer at a table with Jake and a couple other outlaws, Clete Mahaffey and Dave Pearsoll. They were playing a desultory game of poker, but Bodie couldn't concentrate on his cards. His thoughts kept straying to Savannah.

Jake grinned as he raked in another pot after winning a hand from Bodie. “You know why our pard here keeps losin', boys?” Without waiting for an answer he went on. “It's because he's distracted. He's too busy moonin' over a gal to think about playin' poker.”

“What gal's that?” Mahaffey asked. “That redheaded soiled dove called Dora who works here, maybe? She knows some tricks that'd sure keep a man's mind occupied . . . among other things.” He guffawed with laughter.

Pearsoll joined in, and Bodie wished Jake would just shut up about the subject.

But Jake wasn't going to do that. “Naw, it's an actress we saw at the theater tonight. We took in the show, and it was a good one. But Bodie here didn't have eyes for nobody but this brown-haired Southern belle named Savannah.”

The other two men hooted even more.

Glaring across the table at his friend, Bodie scraped his chair back. “I don't reckon I feel like playing anymore. Deal me out.”

“You're gonna quit just because I was hoo-rawin' you a little?” Jake asked. “That ain't like you, Bodie.”

“I'm just tired, that's all,” Bodie said with a shake of his head. “Think I'll head for the hotel and turn in.”

Jake shrugged. “Suit yourself.” He seemed a little insulted.

But Bodie didn't really care. He didn't appreciate being made sport of. As he turned to walk away from the table, he heard Jake say to Mahaffey and Pearsoll, “There's somethin' I've been wantin' to talk to you boys about.”

Bodie didn't hear any more. The hubbub in the saloon swallowed up the rest of Jake's words. Whatever the conversation was, Bodie didn't know or care anything about it.

He drew in a deep breath of night air as he stepped out of the saloon. Kansas City wasn't the most fragrant place in the world; the vast stockyards on the edge of town took care of that. The pungent smells that came from there drifted over the whole town.

But even so, the air outside seemed cleaner to Bodie than that inside the Bella Royale. After pausing on the sidewalk for a moment, he turned toward the hotel.

When he reached the next corner, his steps carried him in a different direction. He realized he was heading toward Channing's Variety Theater.

No point in going there, he told himself. The show had been over for a while. All the performers, including Savannah, would have left already and gone back to wherever they were staying or to get something to eat. All he could do was stand in front of the darkened theater and gaze at it, remembering what he had seen inside earlier.

It would have to be enough, he decided, and walked a little faster. It wasn't far to the theater.

As he approached, he saw the carriage that had pulled up in front of it. Several shadowy forms were moving around on the sidewalk between the street and the theater. Something about the situation made the hackles rise on the back of Bodie's neck.

A second later, a woman's voice rang out clearly. “Gideon Kane sent you, didn't he?”

“Never you mind about who sent us, gal,” a rough male voice answered. “You just come on with us, and there won't have to be no trouble.”

“Get away from me. I'll scream!”

“Look out. She's gonna run! Grab her!”

Bodie was already moving. He'd recognized Savannah's voice when the woman first spoke.

She lunged away from the two men, but they were too fast for her and had her hemmed in against the building.

Bodie left his feet in a diving tackle. His shoulder rammed into the back of the nearest man. The impact drove the man toward his companion. They crashed together, and their feet got tangled up. All three men fell to the sidewalk.

Bodie scrambled to his feet first. Savannah stood a few feet away, gaping at him in surprise. His hat had come off when he tackled the first man, so he snatched it off the sidewalk and grabbed Savannah's arm with his other hand. “Come on, Miss McCoy! I'll get you out of here!”

He didn't know who the two bruisers were, except that Savannah thought they worked for Gideon Kane, whoever that was. It didn't matter. They had threatened her, and he had to get her away from them.

But as they turned to run, one of the men regained his feet and shot out a hand to snag Bodie's shirt collar. Bodie felt himself being jerked backward, away from Savannah. He was whirled around, and a punch exploded against his jaw, knocking him back against the carriage.

The big man bored in, obviously intent on keeping Bodie pinned against the carriage with his bulk while he hammered the young outlaw with his fists. Bodie sensed as much as he saw another powerful blow rocketing at his face and dropped desperately out of its path.

The punch went over his head and smashed into the side of the carriage. The man howled in pain and danced back, shaking his injured hand.

Bodie looked around for Savannah but couldn't locate her. The second man blocked his view, looming up to throw a roundhouse punch that would take Bodie's head off if it landed.

Once again, Bodie avoided the blow at the last second, weaving aside so that the man's fist barely scraped the side of his head. He buried the toe of his boot in the man's belly, doubling him over. Moving fast, he clapped his hat back on his head, clubbed his fists together, and brought them down on the back of the man's neck, driving him to the ground.

Bodie took a step away from the carriage but didn't even have time to think about finding Savannah and hustling her to safety. Something crashed down on his back from above, knocking him off his feet.

The small part of his brain that was still working realized the carriage must have a driver, and that man had leaped from the high seat onto him. The next instant, the man's weight came down hard enough on Bodie to force all the air from his lungs. The world spun crazily and the night turned red in front of his eyes for a second, and he knew he was close to passing out.

If he lost consciousness, the three men might stomp him to death. Even worse, they might succeed in kidnapping Savannah.

With that thought fueling his efforts, he forced himself to ram an elbow up and back, into the midsection of the man who had tackled him. At the same time, he heaved up with his other arm and his legs.

Bodie wasn't big, but he had the lean, muscular build of a panther and had spent years taking care of himself and learning how to survive. He was stronger than he looked, and he was able to throw his opponent off to the side.

He surged to his feet, but the other two men had recovered enough to attack him again. He was trapped between them as their fists crashed into him. He couldn't block all the blows, couldn't get set to throw some punches of his own.

One man screamed suddenly and reeled backward, pawing frantically at the side of his neck, startling his companion enough to give Bodie an opening. He jabbed a stinging left into the man's face and followed it with a right cross that landed solidly on the hombre's jaw, sending him spinning to the sidewalk.

The one who had started yelling staggered into a slanting ray of light coming from a window in a nearby building, and for the first time, Bodie got a good look at his face. A second later, he realized where he had seen the man before.

Earlier, the big bruiser had been with the rich, blond gent who had bumped into Bodie outside the theater. That meant the second man was probably the other bodyguard.

Based on what Savannah had said, the rich, arrogant son of a gun would be Gideon Kane, Bodie supposed. Not that it mattered. Anybody who wanted to hurt Savannah McCoy, for whatever reason, was his enemy.

The yelling man finally plucked whatever was bothering him from his neck and shouted, “Shoot him! Shoot that cowboy!”