According to Hoyle (12 page)

“Marshal, Cage and I aren’t shy,” Gabriel drawled, watching Wash closely as he spoke.

The marshal stopped and turned to look at them with narrowed eyes.

“We don’t mind sharing the bath facilities, if it makes it easier on you.”

“You’re sure interested in how easy my life is all of a sudden,” Wash muttered.

“I’m interested in a bath,” Gabriel corrected in a low, persuasive voice. “Easy makes that happen. Hard continues to see us sitting here in a month’s worth of dirt.”

Cage watched Wash hopefully. He was dirty, he knew that. But Gabriel had remained surprisingly clean during their travels, and Cage suspected that he had more pressing reasons to want them together in that bathing house.

“Get up, then,” Wash ordered.

Cage and Gabriel scrambled off the bed with difficulty and stood obediently, waiting for Wash to decide how best to move them. Cage admired the marshal’s grit. It couldn’t have been a comfortable feeling, being alone with a man of Cage’s size and a man of Gabriel’s reputation with only one working arm. He was handling himself with confidence and grace, though. Cage respected that, and he found he quite liked the man.

Wash followed them down the hall toward the end room that held the hotel’s large cast iron tub. He ordered the tub filled and then sat Cage and Gabriel in the corner and examined the room thoroughly as the water was brought in. He even stuck his head out the window, looking down at the back alley street below, and then looked back at them critically.

“You don’t look like you got wings,” he finally decided. He had removed several sharp objects, including a shaving kit, and several heavy things that could have been used as clubs were also sent out of the room.

When he was done, the room contained barely anything but the tub, the water, and some lye soap.

Wash stood them up and stared them down seriously. “I’m trusting you both,” he said as he took Cage’s hands in his own and unlocked the hand irons. He moved to Gabriel and did the same for him.

“You’re leaving us alone?” Gabriel asked in what appeared to be genuine surprise.

“You ain’t the only one who was kept up at night out there by your mumbling,” the marshal answered with a smile he tried to hide.

Cage found himself blushing as he looked away. He realized that the other men had heard Gabriel’s soft murmurs to him as they had tried to keep warm under the wagon. He wasn’t embarrassed, though his cheeks flushed. Cage had admitted to himself a long time ago that he was attracted to other men, but being unable to speak made life hard enough without the added stigma of preferring men over women. Marshal Washington didn’t seem to mind, though.

“I got a heart,” Wash murmured. “I’m giving you some time together before they take Cage away, understand? Don’t make me regret it,” he requested firmly.

He then backed out of the room, pulling the door closed behind him.

B
AT
S
TRINGER
sat at a table in the corner of the hotel’s small saloon, feet propped up on the empty chair opposite him, arm laid across the back of his chair so that his coat fell away and made his gun easy to see from anywhere in the room. He wore the weapon border style, with the grip backward so he could draw across his body. If anyone in Missouri recognized it as being specific to men who haunted the dangerous Mexican border, they steered clear of Stringer today.

He smiled to himself as he took a drink of whiskey. He didn’t like to admit it, not even to himself, but he enjoyed the sideways looks and wary glances he received in places like this. People could tell he was a dangerous man just by looking at him. He could certainly add the sin of pride to his list of transgressions, and he was just fine with that knowledge.

Being outwardly dangerous had its benefits. For one, people left you the hell alone. He’d been challenged in the street a time or two, but most young bucks let him be. Every shootist in the West had his own brand of self-defense. Stringer preferred the longhorn method; appear bigger and meaner than anyone else and they’ll leave you be. Others chose to hide, or at least tried to appear non-threatening if they couldn’t hide. Dusty Rose, for example, dressed like a dandy and used false ineptitude as defense, rather than brandishing his guns.

Stringer sneered when he thought about Rose. The man was a Belvidere, quite a handsome man, and Stringer hadn’t instantly disliked him when they’d met. He’d actually found Rose quite interesting, if a little bothersome when he opened his mouth. It was rumored that he was openly homosexual, but Stringer didn’t have a problem with that. He’d been involved with other men a few times himself. Homosexuality was more common in the West than the high society folk back East wanted to think. Out here, the euphemism used when two young men found themselves sharing a bedroll for more than just warmth was “mutual solace.” The West was a lonely place; a man took companionship and pleasure where he could get it. Rose didn’t seem to mind what people thought of him for it.

Stringer thought he might have gotten on quite well with Rose if they’d met under different circumstances.

He threw back what remained of his whiskey and stood fluidly. He didn’t exactly feel restored by the interlude, but it would have to do. He needed to hunt down one more piece of the puzzle before he could relax, and it was short hours until they would have to set off again. He slid his hat on, ducking his head to hide his face beneath the brim as the blond marshal he’d seen earlier returned, without his prisoner, and headed directly for the stairs.

F
LYNN
joined Wash outside the door to the room at the end of the hall not long after ridding himself of Hudson. He had filled the Army boys in on their situation and had been pleasantly surprised when they allowed for an extra hour to deliver Cage. What Flynn hadn’t counted on had been Wash’s decision to allow the two burgeoning lovebirds some time alone in the damn bathhouse together.

He and Wash stood side-by-side outside the room, restless and silent. Finally, Flynn could no longer stand it and he turned to Wash with some possibly undue hostility. “You know what they’re doing in there, right? We ain’t running no whorehouse, Wash,” he spat. “This ain’t right. It ain’t proper.”

“Since when have you gave a damn about proper? Give them some time,” Wash said with a sigh of exasperation. “And don’t be preachin’ to me. If it was you, you’d be thankful for a half hour of peace with someone you thought you might care about. Especially if you thought you was looking at the gallows.”

Flynn opened his mouth to deny it, but he knew it was true. It was human nature, to need to be close to someone when you thought you had so little time left. Hell, even knowing he did have time, the thought of spending it all alone because he was a coward was momentarily crushing.

“Hell, it might even make ’em easier to handle. Besides,” Wash continued with a shrug and a nod at the door, “I don’t peg Cage as the type to run. And I don’t think Rose will try it without him now. I don’t rightly believe he tried it at all before.”

“What?” Flynn asked incredulously.

“You were going to shoot his dog, Flynn.”

There was a sudden thump from within the room, and a few seconds later, a soft knock came on the door.

“That was quicker’n I expected,” Wash muttered as he reached for the door handle.

Flynn was ready with his hand on his gun, just in case the two men tried anything.

But when Wash opened the door, Cage stood before them placidly. His face was still covered with a few weeks’ worth of beard and his long hair was tied neatly at the back of his neck, but he seemed a different man since he had managed to clean all the dirt and grime from his body. His clothes were damp, but they were relatively clean as well, looking like he had washed them in the tub and wrung them dry, as evidenced by the dirty brown water in the tub behind him. Wash and Flynn stared at him in confused silence, waiting. Cage merely turned to the side to allow them to see into the room behind him, and he pointed at the window, which was open, its curtains fluttering in the soft breeze. Gabriel Rose was nowhere to be seen.

“Damnation!” Flynn shouted as he launched himself into the room and stuck his head out the open window. He looked down and saw nothing but a long drop to the dirt of the street below, and Rose’s bowler hat lying crushed and upside down in the dust. He cursed again and brushed past Cage out into the hall, darting toward the stairs in pursuit.

“Stay here!” Wash ordered Cage, who merely nodded his head obediently and had the door slammed in his face for his trouble.

C
AGE
stood by the door, left alone and unguarded after the flurry of frantic activity. The two marshals had dashed off after their escaped prisoner, trusting him to remain where he was in their haste. The breeze gently tugged at the lacy curtains as Cage counted slowly to ten.

When he was done, he walked over to the large cast iron tub filled with lukewarm, murky water and brushed his fingers across the calm water. Gabriel’s head broke the surface and he gasped in a deep breath of air. Rivulets of water streamed down his face and his curly black hair was plastered to his forehead and over his ears. He ran a hand over his face and then through his hair, making it stick up in all directions.

Cage patted him on the head and offered him a hand out of the tub.

Gabriel peered around the room and then grinned widely up at Cage and pulled himself out of the tub. Cage helped him out of the water and brushed some of the water droplets off the man’s shoulders.

“Did they charge off after me?” he asked.

Cage nodded, trying not to smile. He didn’t want to encourage Gabriel’s brash nature any more than he already had.

“Well, that went better than even I could have hoped,” Gabriel said to him as water dropped off his curling hair.

Cage gave him a melancholy, affectionate smile and nodded.

“Come with me,” Gabriel urged in a whisper as he adjusted the straps of his vest over his sopping wet shirt.

Cage licked his lips and stared at the man for a long moment, then slowly shook his head and pressed his lips tightly together in regret.

“Come on, Cage,” Gabriel whispered urgently. “I’ll watch your back, you watch mine. The dog’s already smarter than I am, I need someone to talk to,” he said with a hint of mischief in his black eyes.

Cage hesitated, wanting to give in to the desire to just go with him. They’d made an instant connection, and that wasn’t something Cage was used to or that he took lightly. Most people just ignored him. He’d had few true friends in life, even fewer who seemed to see past his silence. In the end, though, he knew he had to stand trial for what he had done, right or wrong. His conscience wouldn’t let him rest otherwise. For the first time in years he wanted to say something, though, to tell Gabriel
why
he wouldn’t go with him.

He shook his head and lowered it, unable to voice his thoughts or emotions.

He was surprised when Gabriel looked crestfallen at his continued refusal, and he was even more surprised when Gabriel took his face in both hands and kissed him soundly. He gave a little gasp of surprise and grabbed Gabriel’s elbows, not certain of how to touch him now that he wasn’t restrained by chains, or even if he should. Gabriel kissed him harder for his troubles and then regretfully let him go.

Cage blinked rapidly at him and Gabriel smiled crookedly. “I’ll just find you later then, yeah? After you’ve served your punishment,” he said softly.

Cage licked his lips again, tasting the other man on them this time, and he nodded as his lips curved in a smile. Even without Cage trying to articulate it, Gabriel had understood.

“And if they think they’re going to hang you, well, they’ll have to go through me first,” Gabriel promised with a wink.

Cage nodded again. He was willing to serve his time, but his conscience and sense of right and wrong only took him so far. He sure as hell wasn’t willing to die for burning blankets that may or may not have been infected with disease. If the Army planned to make an example of him, or if he became the victim of some bureaucratic oversight, they very well could hang him. If Gabriel was planning to help him out of a noose, then Cage wasn’t going to argue the point.

Gabriel mirrored the nod with one of his own, then gave Cage a brilliant smile and turned to the door, grabbing his coat as he went.

Cage reached out and grabbed his elbow. When Gabriel looked back at him in question, Cage gave him a confused frown and shrugged his shoulders.

“What do I plan to do?” Gabriel asked to make certain he understood Cage’s query. Cage nodded. “No worries, my friend,” Gabriel drawled. “I’ve always got a plan,” he answered vaguely. “Just tell them the truth when they question you,” he ordered.

Cage let him go with a raised eyebrow, not quite understanding but willing to trust the man implicitly. He watched impassively as Gabriel swung open the door. The Englishman stopped in his tracks when he found Marshal Washington standing in the hallway, waiting with his six-shooter raised, a grim smile set on his face.

“Howdy,” the marshal greeted sarcastically.

Gabriel’s shoulders slumped and he looked away from the man with a huff of irritation. “Bloody marshals.”

Wash swung his arm and hit Gabriel in the temple with the butt of his gun, sending his newly recaptured prisoner down in a heap.

Cage watched him fall without even twitching in an attempt to help him, and then raised his eyes once more to meet Wash’s.

“Did he threaten you if you didn’t help him?” Wash asked him in a low growl, pointing his gun down at Gabriel’s unconscious body.

Cage swallowed and then shook his head in answer.

“If he threatened you, son, then it’s all forgiven,” Wash went on deliberately as he placed a booted foot on top of Gabriel’s back to make certain he wouldn’t get up.

Cage was pretty sure the man wasn’t going to be getting up for a while, though. It was the fourth time Gabriel had been hit on the head in the last ten days, if Cage was counting correctly. At some point, you just stopped getting back up. He wanted to check him to make sure he was okay, but with the marshal’s good hand still on that trigger, he didn’t dare move.