A Wanted Man (19 page)

L
aura didn’t understand why she kept dreaming about men.

Sam, yes, that was self-explanatory. What woman wouldn’t dream about Sam? And that Chinaman; that really wasn’t that surprising, given how much she’d worried about him at the time.

But this one…big and bulky and unfamiliar, in her bedroom, moving around, clumsily ruffling through her things.

She blinked…blinked? And came to full wakefulness.

Reflexive self-preservation froze her in place, afraid to breathe, wishing she could turn her head to follow his movements.

He was in the corner of her room where her work supplies were stored. A mouth-breather, loud and heavy, as if he were under a great strain.

He dropped something. She heard the thud on the floor, the creak of his knees as he bent to pick it up.

She could just stay there, unmoving, and hope he went away. But those were her things, and…oh, she’d had enough of waiting and hoping.

And screamed.

He whirled, gaping at her. It was far too dark to see him well. A moon-round face, a build like a bear ready for hibernation.

He charged out of the room, the door slamming against the thick walls, the report like cannon fire.

She heard the thunder of feet. They burst into her room. Haw, Ben, Clem. Lupe, carrying a lantern that swung in her hands, throwing eerie undulating shadows on the walls. And Sam, only a few seconds later, skidding in behind them and pushing through the group to stand by her bed.

“Are you all right?”

“Yes, yes, I’m fine.”

His face flooded with such relief that she softened inside; he must care for her, in some way more than merely a means to an end.

“What happened?” Crocker asked.

“There was someone in my room.”

“Someone in your room?” He strode over to the bed. Laura yanked the covers up, glad she’d worn a high-necked, long-sleeved gown despite the warm evening.

Ben, Clem, and Lupe were in their nightclothes, too. Clem, a white nightshirt the size of a sail, the trunks of his legs sticking out beneath it. He was of a size to be her nighttime visitor, but there was no way he could have changed that quickly.

Lupe wore silk—creamy, shimmering, and surprising.

Only Mr. Crocker and Sam were fully dressed. Evidentally Mr. Crocker worked late. Sam wore black,
giving him a dangerous edge. He’d been working, too, Laura thought, and couldn’t help but worry.

And he was far more likely to be recognized in those clothes. She inclined her head to him, trying to encourage him to slip out of the room before anyone took too close a look at him.

“Didn’t you see him in the hall?”

Haw and his son glanced at each other. “Nope.”

“Then he’s got to be
here
somewhere! You all arrived too quickly, maybe he ducked into—”

“That’s ridiculous,” Crocker interrupted.

Sam scowled and stepped forward. She shook her head, trying desperately to signal him with her eyes.
Get out, get out. Get safe
. Finally, he slipped out of the room and she flopped back against the pillows, releasing a relieved breath.

“Are you prone to…vivid dreams?” Crocker asked her.

“No, I—” They were arrayed by her bed. Clem had his arms crossed in front of his chest, threatening even in that ridiculous nightshirt. Crocker’s face was suspicious. Only Lupe appeared sympathetic.

What good what it do her to insist? The man was likely long gone. Clearly Crocker had no intention of searching the house or calling an alarm in the yard.

“Well, perhaps,” she admitted softly, lowering her lashes.

“There’s a good girl.” Crocker patted her awkwardly on the shoulder. “Would you like Lupe to stay with you until you get back to sleep?”

“That’s very kind of you. But no. I’ll be fine.” Let Lupe get back to whatever assignation she was heading to—no woman wore a gown like that for herself. Idly
she wondered who he could be; she could not picture the striking Lupe with any of the men in the house.

“I’m fine,” she repeated, and yawned to prove the point. “I’m sure I’ll sleep better now. If nothing else, I know how quickly you can all get here if I need you.”

“I promised your father I’d take good care of you,” Crocker said, just before he went out the door. “I intend to.”

“Thank you,” she murmured, as if she were already surrendering to sleep.

Lupe hovered by the door, the lantern in her hand. She was a lovely woman, with her vivid coloring and generous curves, and she appeared to be genuinely concerned. “Would you like something to drink? I’d be pleased to fix you something.”

“No, thank you.” Her curiosity got the better of her. And perhaps it would be useful to form a bond with the woman. Who saw more and heard more of what went on in a house than the housekeeper? “Your English is excellent.”

“I’ve been here a long time.”

“You must like it here.”

“What’s that got to do with anything?” she asked, and slipped out the door.

Laura wriggled her shoulders, adjusting comfortably against the covers, and waited.

“Nice lungs,” Sam said.

She’d been expecting him. His voice startled her just the same, for he’d appeared at the window without a hint of sound, a breath of warning, slipping through in an instant.

“Thank you for noticing,” she said softly. “You do have a way with windows.”

“They’re very useful.”

He sauntered over to her, an innate creature of the night. If one of Haw Crocker’s men saw him just then, he would recognize Sam instantly.

He sat down on the edge of her bed, which made her brows lift.

“Can’t be too far away,” he told her. “Gotta talk softly. Don’t want anyone to hear us.”

The walls were at least half a foot thick. Haw Crocker had built the house to stand long after he was gone. “Uh-huh.” The mattress dipped beneath his weight, causing her body to sway his way. If she relaxed, she’d roll right into him.

“Where were you? You got here awfully fast.”

He hooked a thumb in the direction of the window. “Only a little way out in the yard. Watching the comings and goings. It’s a busy place out there, for the middle of the night.” There was a hint of strain in his voice that gave her pause. Was he as unsettled to be on her bed as she was to have him there? And would it be wiser to ignore it or confront it?

“Oh?”

“Yup. The mill supervisors must live here instead of closer to the mines. Saw them all come back around midnight. Not to mention a whole fleet of guards. Seems strange that they’d need that many people to watch over the miners.”

“Maybe they’re a rambunctious lot.”

“Perhaps.” Half of Sam was attending to the conversation, shifting through the bits of information he’d gathered and the implications of someone breaking into her room. The other half was simply admiring. Her hair was braided, and her nightgown had more in common with a sack than a negligee. But her eyes sparkled with life, her mouth soft and animated. The line of her
jaw was lovely, the curve of her ear pink and tempting. The fact that such simple things could stir him so deeply made him believe that, were he ever to see more than her gown revealed, maybe even
touch
more, he’d be captured more thoroughly than he’d ever intended.

And she was distracting him enough to allow him to remain in the room. He felt the strain of it, a hitch in chest, a pressure in his lungs. But if he concentrated on her, thought of possibilities and wants and yes, most of all, sex, he didn’t feel like the walls were going to crush him.

“I know vaguely which direction the mine is now, at least,” he said.

“Any sign of Mr. Judah?”

He shook his head.

“I’m sorry, Sam.”

“I don’t know what I thought I’d find.” He’d never really considered the possibility of failure. Sam Duncan never failed. But what if there really was nothing to find?

No, there had to be. Men did not just vanish, not without a shred of evidence left behind for a diligent and motivated investigator to discover. “It’s not like somebody’s going to be wearing a jacket labeled with his initials.”

“You’ll find it,” Laura said, with such absolute faith in his abilities that his worry eased. “How about the woman in the shed?”

“Ah. She’s a busy woman, that one. Has a
lot
of very friendly visitors.”

“Visitors.” Realization dawned. “Oh.”

“Yes. Oh.” If she were…entertaining…all the men on the Silver Spur, she’d be a busy woman indeed. “And one more thing. She looks to be Chinese.”

“Chinese?” She frowned in concentration. “That’s rather a coincidence, wouldn’t you say?”

“I would indeed.”

She seemed so comfortable with him beside her on her bed. Oh, there’d been a moment of surprise at first, but she’d quickly accepted it, as if having him there was the most natural thing in the world. He couldn’t quite decide whether he should be worried about that or insulted, because he was anything but comfortable there.

“Now. Tell me about your thief.”

“You think he was a thief?”

“What else? You’ve got plenty to steal. And he’d have a helluva time kidnapping you from beneath all of our noses.”

“You managed quite nicely.”

“Yes. But very few people are as good as I am.”

“Well, aren’t you modest.” She grinned at him, a flirtatious little curve of her mouth. He felt it settle into his gut, a warm kick of desire that left him a bit woozy, like he’d just downed a good slug of whiskey.

“Not a terribly useful virtue, I’ve discovered.”

“What other virtues have you found useless?”

He wondered if she had any idea of what she was doing. Tempting him beyond reason, driving him beyond sense, with just some banter and a mischievous glint in her eyes.

He stood up, turning his back to her while he struggled for control.

“Sam?” she said, her soft voice a spur to senses excited to a fever pitch, attuned to the slightest stimulation from her.

“So tell me about your intruder,” he managed. And sounded almost normal.

“I…” He heard her confusion at the change of topic, then she quickly rallied, businesslike and composed.
Always quick on the uptake, aren’t you, my girl?
“He was big. I couldn’t tell you much more about him than that. It was dark.”

“That doesn’t narrow it down much. Half of the guys who work for Crocker look like they were circus strongmen in a previous career.”

“I don’t think he was a thief,” she said thoughtfully. “At least, he wasn’t going through my wardrobe. He was over there. By my work supplies.”

“Maybe he just hadn’t found the good stuff yet.”

“No. The armoire’s right beside the door. My jewelry case is on that table. He had to pass them to get to the corner where I stored all my supplies.”

“Well, let’s see what might have interested him. You got a lantern?”

“Right here.” She groped for the matches, lit it. He heard the creak as she climbed out of bed and should have anticipated the danger. Instead, he turned automatically at the sound.

She swayed by the side of the bed, the covers peeled back, white and inviting. A nice big bed, one made for a long night of loving. That, he thought, he’d stay inside for, and happily, too.

Her nightgown was summerweight, a sheer drift of white. Completely demure, but in the golden glow of the lantern he could catch hints of her body: the sharp indent of her waist, the slight curve of her hip, the long length of her narrow legs, and he had to close his eyes to tamp down on his passions, for it certainly wouldn’t happen while he was looking at her. But it didn’t help, for the image of her was burned behind his lids, imprinted in his brain.

She, however, apparently had no such problems. She brushed beside him—if she had any idea of how near the edge he hovered, she’d never have dared to come so close—and bent to the stack of books and canvases, the rolls of paper and cases that held brushes and pots of paint.

“Here. Let me.” He took the lantern from her so she could search with both hands. Her shadow trembled on the cream-colored wall behind her, a graceful curve.

“It’s silly, really, or he’s very stupid. The jewelry’s worth far more than any of these. In fact—” She snapped upright. “He took the sketchbook.”

“Are you sure?”

“Oh, yes. It was right here.”

“Maybe it just got lost in the shuffle as he was rummaging through things.”

“No. It’s really not that jumbled. I’ve got a smaller, blank one right here, and most everything else is still packed away. It’s gone.”

He knew how much work that sketchbook contained. He’d watched her create most of it. “I’m sorry, Laura,” he said. If he hadn’t
lured
her into helping him she wouldn’t have lost it. “I’m sorry.”

She shrugged, unconcerned. “So why did he want my sketchbook? Even an idiot must know the necklace I wore at dinner’s worth more than all the work I’ve done in my entire life.”

She looked so delicate in the lamplight, her skin so fine as to be almost translucent. Oh, she didn’t belong here, with men breaking into her room while she slept and stealing her work.

“This is ridiculous,” he said. “I’m taking you back tomorrow.”

Laura was still pondering the theft, and his words penetrated slowly. “What did you say?”

“I said I’m taking you back tomorrow.”

“You most certainly are not.” Hands on her hips, she glowered at him, a fierce and threatening creature.

“I’ll find another way,” he said. “Now that I’ve seen the lay of the land, I’ll find another way back in.”

“Don’t be stupid,” she said. “I know it might be difficult, with that reflexive protectiveness kicking in, but listen to me. I do not
wish
to go back. I clearly was not in any danger—for heaven’s sake, I screamed once, and there were enough people in my room to have a party. Not to mention I have utmost faith in your ability to keep me safe. And even if I did not, it is still my choice to make. Not my father’s, not Mrs. Bossidy’s, not yours.
Mine
. And I choose to stay.”