All I Need Is You (15 page)

A
t first, Damian found it quite amusing; Casey’s legendary composure was gone. Every time she looked at him the next day, her cheeks would noticeably pinken. It wasn’t until he began to wonder why that it started to worry him.

Of course, she was probably having mixed feelings over what they’d done. He knew he certainly was. But he hoped she wasn’t regretting it. He
should
be, but he wasn’t.

Previously, his sexual habits where women were concerned had been quite simple. Spend a few hours with a woman and then go home to his bachelor bed. See them again or not; it never really mattered much. Casey was the first woman he’d ever spent the entire night with, then shared coffee with in the morning. It was a new experience for him, and one he wasn’t quite sure how to handle without making her embarrassment even worse.

He should have made love to her again this morning to ease the sexual tension they both seemed to be having. It was what he wanted to
do. But she was being her efficient, let’s-hit-the-trail self again, so he didn’t attempt it. And besides, she
had
been a virgin. What little knowledge he had of them included a certain soreness they were reputed to experience for several days following their first sexual encounter. The very last thing he wanted to do was give Casey any pain now, when she had fortunately seemed to experience very little of it last night.

He did have a great deal of self-castigating to do, however, for yielding to temptation in the first place. He had been hoping against hope that they would find a judge quickly, because their temporary “marriage” had pretty much been driving him crazy, having the right to make love to Casey more or less handed to him, but trying to do the noble thing and not take advantage of it.

Yesterday, however, he sure hadn’t been thinking of anything noble—just the opposite. He had come up with one excuse after another to rationalize why he was being so foolish, suffering so much, when he didn’t have to. But that was all they had been—excuses. He
knew
he should have continued to keep his hands off her.

He still couldn’t regret it, though. She had proved to be too much of a delight in every way imaginable. And so very passionate. Now
that
had been surprising indeed, especially when she was so adept at keeping her emotions such a mystery.

They were still barely talking to each other by the time they reached Culthers late that afternoon. The town was, as reported, a small but quickly growing community. Comprised of two
main blocks, with evidence of another under way, it offered a variety of businesses to tempt settlement in the area. It also seemed much more peaceful than many towns they’d been through, with both children and their pets romping in the streets, an indication that not much gunplay disturbed the peace. There was more than one saloon, but they’d also seen more than one church on the ride in.

As soon as they arrived, Casey asked for directions to a boardinghouse. It was almost a slap in the face, her doing that, knowing how Damian was accustomed to staying in the best a town had to offer, and there
was
a hotel, albeit a small one. He knew she was in effect telling him to stay on his side of town, she’d stay on hers. In other words, she wanted no more intimacy with him.

She couldn’t have been more clear about it if she’d spoken the words aloud. How Damian felt about it was another matter. He didn’t like it at all, would have checked them into the same room if she’d asked his preferences. But he would respect her wishes. She obviously
was
having regrets, and wanted to make sure she’d have no more to add to them.

They parted after stabling the horses, agreeing to meet for dinner in a restaurant they’d noted in passing, where they would discuss how to proceed if Henry did happen to be here in Culthers.

As Damian walked into his hotel he saw the newspaper on the check-in desk—and Henry’s face was plastered on the front. He stopped dead in his tracks. Curruthers
was
running for
mayor here, in an election to take place in several weeks.

Reading quickly through the article, Damian noted it was pretty much a case of one candidate slandering the other, the one slinging all the accusations being Henry. Strictly political in nature, the article didn’t say anything personal about Curruthers, such as how long he’d been a resident of Culthers or where he hailed from previously. It didn’t even mention his first name, but in a small town like this, everyone likely knew everyone, so maybe it was understood.

Damian had two choices. Find Henry immediately and deal with him. Or find Casey first, so she could be there for this long-awaited confrontation. As eager as he was to get the whole thing over with, he owed Casey a front-row seat, so to speak, for all the time and effort she had devoted to leading him to Henry. She’s earned her bounty money.

It was a simple matter to locate the boardinghouse that she’d been directed to. This one was at least clean and somewhat homey in appearance, owned by the local schoolmarm, as it happened. That very proper young lady probably wouldn’t have let Damian up her stairs for any reason—if she’d known Casey was a female. But since she didn’t know, she directed him to the second door on the left at the top of the stairs—which was open, the room being empty.

Hearing water running led Damian to the only other door up there that was closed. He knocked impatiently. “Are you in there, Casey?”

“What are you doing here?” she called out immediately.

He didn’t like talking through doors, so rather than answer that, he asked, “Are you decent?”

“Barely. I’m about to have a bath.”

Not surprisingly, the thought of Casey in a steaming-hot bath sort of changed the direction of Damian’s thoughts. He wondered if the door was locked. He was about to find out when he heard from her again.

“You still there?”

“Yes.” He sighed, recalling why he was.

“You didn’t say what brought you.”

“Henry is here.”

“I know.”

Damian frowned at that reply. “What do you mean, you know?”

“I probably saw the same newspaper you did, with his picture on the front page.”

His frown got a little deeper. “And you come up here to bathe instead of coming to tell me?”

“He’s not going anywhere, Damian. He’ll still be here when I’m done with my bath.”

“I’m not waiting.”

He heard a low growl of annoyance before the door jerked open. In disappointment, he noted Casey
was
completely dressed, just lacking her poncho and her gun belt.

“What’s your big hurry?” she demanded.

“Considering how long I’ve been searching for Henry, do you really have to ask?”

Her belligerence fled. She even sighed. “No, I guess not.” She turned to reach for her gun belt and glanced down to buckle it on, adding, “Did you take the time to ask someone where Cur
ruthers can be found at this time of day?”

“At Barnet’s Saloon. It would appear that he runs his political campaign from there.”

“Don’t sound so disgusted.” Casey grinned at him. “Saloons happen to make excellent places to conduct business other than the usual business of drinking, gambling, and—” She paused to cough. “Well, you get the drift.”

He did, but denied it, “And?”

She turned stubborn, refusing to spell out anything of a sexual nature. “And having a generally good time,” she improvised with a frown.

Damian leaned forward and stole a quick kiss from her, then said while she was still too surprised to speak, “That kind of good time?”

Casey snorted and grabbed her poncho, but she was blushing again, and she refused to meet his amused glance. She did give one last, wistful look at the hot water she was leaving behind, before heading out the door with a curt “Well, come on, let’s get this over with.”

T
he very first thing she noticed about Barnet’s Saloon was how clean it was. The second thing was, it didn’t look like any saloon Casey had ever been in before. The tables were covered with red leather. The chairs were upholstered. The bar was a work of art, thickly carved and highly polished and inset with a marble top. The walls were actually wallpapered. There was a thin carpet on the floor, and, for crying out loud, not a spittoon in sight. If not for the bar, it looked like the lobby of a fancy hotel, or an exclusive men’s club.

Casey was impressed. She even stepped back outside to look at the placard again, just to make sure they were in the right place. They were, but Barnet’s was just too foreign-looking, as if designed by someone from Europe—or back East, and that brought Henry Curruthers back to mind.

He was sitting there, so easily recognizable with those thick glasses and that mole on his cheek, exactly as Damian had described. He sat
at a table with three other men. Two others stood around, listening to the conversation. All wore business suits, though all but Henry looked seriously awkward in them. The group appeared as if they ought to be in some hideout, discussing their next robbery, rather than sitting in this fancy saloon discussing political strategies.

Casey shook that thought away. She was being too suspicious. Just because the five men with Henry had that peculiar look of menace typically associated with gunfighters didn’t mean they were gunfighters. They weren’t even wearing guns.

Damian didn’t seem to notice the decor or think that it was unusual, but as soon as he spotted Henry, his focus remained on him and him alone. He was waiting for Henry to notice him. Casey was waiting for that, too, as a confirmation of identity. Not that one was really needed, but Henry
would
recognize Damian, and in that moment of surprise, his reaction could give away his guilt.

But that wasn’t the case, unfortunately. When he finally glanced over toward the door and saw them standing there, he did show a speck of surprise, but that was all. And, heck, maybe the place had rules of dressing that allowed only suited-up folks to enter, and she and Damian certainly weren’t that, having just come off the trail. If that were the case, everyone there would be surprised at their presence, not only Henry.

That did happen to be the case. Everyone else was now looking at them in something less than curiosity, a few in actual outrage.

One fellow spoke up querulously. “Here, now, this is a private saloon, members only. If you’re looking for a drink, head over to The Eagle’s Nest across the street.”

They weren’t budging, of course. And Casey was figuring she might have to back up their stance with her Colt, at least until they got their business finished here, but that wasn’t necessary.

“I’m placing you under arrest, Henry,” Damian said. “Will you come along peaceably, or will you give me the pleasure of dragging you out of here?”

Casey had to admire Damian’s bluntness, even if he didn’t have the authority to do any legal arresting. The others in the room, though, found his statement hilarious; almost all of them were laughing, Henry included.

“What’d you do, Jack, kick Mrs. Arwick’s dog again?” someone snickered.

“No, wait,” another said with a chuckle. “Old Henning must be having Jack arrested for ridiculin’ him in the newspaper—as if every word weren’t true.”

Henning was the other candidate currently running for mayor, whom Henry had slandered in the local two-page newspaper, but who was this Jack they were referring to? Someone else was a mite confused as well, though in the reverse.

“I’ve heard you called many a thing, Mr. Curruthers, but a Henry?”

Curruthers was smiling as he answered, “Actually, I
have
been called Henry before, but, dear me, it’s been more than twenty years since any
one’s made that mistake, getting me and my twin brother mixed up.” Then he looked at Damian and asked pointedly, “Is that what you’ve done, mister? Mistaken me for my brother, Henry? And just who are you, anyway?”

Damian was frowning something fierce, obviously not liking the implications of those questions. “Damian Rutledge—and let me get this straight. You’re saying you and Henry are identical twins?”

“Yes, unfortunately.”

“Unfortunately?”

Curruthers shrugged. “I’ve really got nothing against my brother, although I’ve always considered him a bit of a Milquetoast, if you know what I mean. But I’ve just never liked having someone around who could pretend to be me, and get away with it, simply because he’s got the exact same face that I do. It’s why I left New York and my family ties behind as soon as I was old enough to get out on my own. And I’ve never gone back or regretted leaving. I’ve kept in touch, and I hear from Henry every so often, but if I never saw my brother again, it wouldn’t bother me much.”

“When was the last time you heard from him?”

“Actually, a couple times this year. It surprised the hell out of me when he wrote last spring that he was thinking about coming to pay me a visit. Never figured Henry would want to leave New York and his comfortable job there. He’s an accountant, you know.”

“Yes, I’m aware of that.”

“But he’s such a timid sort, if you know what I mean, and this country out here, well, it’s not for the timid.” There were a few chuckles from his friends over that remark, before Curruthers added, “He must have changed his mind, though, since he wrote again a few months ago from San Antonio—he’d made it that far—but he never showed up here.”

“Then you don’t expect him to show up?”

“After all this time? It doesn’t take three months to get here from San Antonio. My guess is, Henry probably got scared off. For someone who’s lived their whole life in a big city like New York, Texas can seem quite primitive. Takes a certain kind of man to settle out here, and Henry just isn’t that kind, if you know what I mean.”

“But you are?”

“Well, I’ve lived in Texas for the last fifteen years, so I guess that speaks for itself.”

“This town isn’t that old,” Damian pointed out.

“I said I’ve lived in Texas, not this town,” Jack said, his tone turning condescending now. “No, I’ve only lived here in Culthers for the last eight months or so—isn’t that right, boys?”

“Yep, was about eight months ago that you showed up here, Jack,” the man to Curruthers’s right said.

“Was a couple months into the new year, as I recall,” another confirmed.

Jack nodded, wearing a bit of a smirk now as he glanced back at Damian. “By the way, what’s Henry done, anyway, to warrant arrest?”

“He committed murder.”

“Henry?” Curruthers started laughing. It took him a while to compose himself. “You’ve got to be mistaken—again. The only way Henry might kill someone is to pay to have it done. He wouldn’t have the guts himself.”

“But you would, wouldn’t you—Jack?”

The little man stiffened, possibly because the pause Damian had inserted before his name indicated that Damian wasn’t believing everything he was hearing. Not surprising, since Casey wasn’t either. But it was only the question that Jack addressed right now.

“I’d kill someone in self-defense, without a doubt. But then, I didn’t say I was like my brother. Matter of fact, we’re as different as night and day. I don’t tolerate weakness, though that’s about the only category my brother has ever fit in—if you know what I mean.”

Casey had gotten that impression with the first words Jack had uttered. There was an unmistakable arrogance about this little fellow that didn’t match up at all with what Damian had said about Henry. She didn’t need it spelled out that one brother was a bit of a coward, while this one was more or less a braggart. Now, whether it was all for show or if he really did have the gumption to back it up, that was what she was interested in.

But she was keeping out of this interrogation, since Damian was doing just fine. She was amazed, actually, sensing how furious he was over this unexpected turn of events, how well he was keeping his temper contained. This was
supposed
to have been the end of his search. It had to be utterly infuriating for him that on the
surface, it looked like they might have come up against a complete dead end instead.

Damian’s silence, or perhaps it was the skeptical expression he was still wearing, must have caused Jack to change his “offended” stance, because he sighed now and said, “Look, Mr. Rutledge, if you’re having any trouble believing me, and I suppose you are since you’ve never heard of me before, then I would suggest you send a telegram to my aunt in New York. Last I heard, she was still living. And she can verify that Henry and I are twins.”

“Where is the telegraph office?”

At that point Jack was grinning again. “We don’t have one here in Culthers. We expect to before the end of the year, but right now the closest you’ll find one is in Sanderson, one or two days’ ride south of here. Of course, I will expect you to return and offer a full apology. Can’t have any slurs against my good name during an election, if you know what I mean.”

The little man was nothing if not confident, but it was a confidence that grated.