Arizona Gold (16 page)

He stole a glance out of the corner of his eye and wondered again how she could have fooled him so. Then the question struck—what if she hadn’t? What if he had known who she was? Would he have been able to frighten her into handing over her part of the map? He doubted it, recalling how feisty she had been even though she was a captive. She was just not the sort to be easily frightened or intimidated. So maybe it was just as well he was going at her from another angle. After all, she was a strong woman…and also smart.

“Aren’t you worried about Indians?” It was time to cut to the chase and steer the conversation in the way he wanted it to go. “The bartender told me last night you were captured a while back by Apaches. Seems to me you wouldn’t go anywhere you might run into them.”

For a heart-stopping second, he feared he had gone too far and crossed a forbidden line. Her face went tight. Her hand stopped fluttering and returned to clasp the other in her lap. With back rigid, head jerking up, she coolly said, “I don’t let myself think about that. It’s in the past.”

He dared press on. “Was it so awful?”

She looked at him then, deeply, thoughtfully, as though deciding whether he was worthy of sharing her feelings.

He waited, again wondering whether he had gone too far.

Then, with a resigned sigh, she said, “Actually, it wasn’t. I was disguised as a boy, you see, and since I made a very
scrawny
boy, the work they made me do wasn’t all that hard. Besides, the Apaches have their reasons for being like they are.”

He was struggling to keep his voice even, for it was a jolt that she was not condemning them…
him
.

Kitty repeated the parting words of Pale Sky.

Ryder was even more stunned.

She saw his expression and explained, “One of the women helped me escape, and when we said goodbye, she asked me to spread that message.”

He listened as Kitty talked on and knew, somehow, that it was the first time she had so completely verbalized her feelings and reactions to her captivity. He sensed she had pushed it back in her mind but now welcomed the chance to let it out, and it flew eagerly, like a bird released from a tangled thicket.

Suddenly she pointed to an expanse on one side with a backdrop of boulders reaching to the sky. “We can shoot there. I’m going to prove I’m as good a shot as you, Mr. Bodine. Maybe even better.”

He reined in the horse, then turned and held out his hand to her. “Call me Sam, please. I’d like to be your friend, Miss Parrish. And you don’t have to worry about me doing anything to dishonor you. I may make my living with my guns, but I know how to treat a lady.” Quite a speech, but he had no time to waste in trying to win her confidence.

She gave him a long, searching look.

Ryder bit the inside of his jaw to steady himself. He was remembering how she had bathed him…touched him. Lord, if he had known the truth.

“I’d like that,” she said finally. “I could use a friend.”

Then, scrambling from the buggy before he had a chance to assist her, she flashed an impish grin and said, “But right now I’m anxious to see if you can outshoot me, Sam Bodine.”

He thought, in that moment, that she was, without a doubt, the most winsome and comely woman he had ever seen in his whole life. He liked the freshness of her, the wholesomeness. She was happy and perky and cute, and as long as he had been in her company she had made him feel good.

He also noted the swell of her bosom and marveled, again, over how she had managed to keep her secret. To think such a delicacy had slept on the ground outside his tent all those nights, listening as he—

“Well?”

She was frowning at his hesitation.

He forced buoyancy. “All right. Let’s see how good you think you are.”

“How good I
am
,” she corrected, frown gone. Ryder glanced around for a target. Even if there was a bottle to be had, he was not about to shoot toward the boulders for fear of ricochet. Then he saw the saguaro cactus with its human shape—round flat head, jutting arms to the sides. “There,” he pointed.

“I’m going to set a rock on the top, and we’ll see if you can hit from twenty paces.”

“I can hit from forty.”

“Think so?” He was amused by her arrogance…and also still very much smitten. “If you’ve got that much self-confidence, maybe you’d be willing to make a little wager.”

The frown threatened to return, “What do you mean?”

He shrugged. “An innocent bet, that’s all.”

“I only have a few dollars with me.”

“Fine.”

He set the rock, marked off forty paces, then handed her his six-gun. “I guess I have the advantage, being as you aren’t used to my pistols.”

“A gun is a gun,” she said confidently, then, without further ado, she aimed, fired, and hit the rock.

Ryder was impressed. The little gal could shoot, all right. But Coyotay could have attested to that. He did not have to see her hit a rock on top of a cactus to confirm his own belief. What he did have to do, however, was make her happy and at ease with him.

He set another rock, fired himself, and hit the target, then said, “Well, I guess it’s a draw. Pardon the pun,” he added with a chuckle.

“I still want to best you, Sam Bodine. How good are you with a knife?”

“Pretty fair.”
He was damn good
.

“I’m better.”

He sucked in his breath to see her whip a knife from where it was strapped to her ankle and send it whizzing through the air to hit the cactus dead center.

He gave a low whistle. “I think we’ll declare you the winner.” He did not want to show off too much and went to retrieve the knife—then froze.

“What’s wrong?” she called when he continued to stand there, staring.

It was his mother’s flint knife. He knew because he had made it for her.

He yanked it from the cactus. “Nothing. Just amazed at your skills. Not many women have them.”

“Not many women were raised like I was.”

“And how was that?”

He watched as a shadow passed over her face, erasing the happy glow. Something remembered was causing her pain.

Her shrug was forced, her tone flippant. “Oh, it doesn’t matter anymore.”

Then, to change the subject from herself, she pointed up and said, “Those beautiful yellow flowers, what are they?”

He followed her gaze. “Mexican poppies. The coral-colored ones are called mallow. And see that?” It was his turn to point.

Kitty took a staggering step backward as a zigzagging bee nearly flew into her face. “What in the world…”

“A drunk bee,” Ryder explained. “They love the nectar from both the poppy and the mallow and switch back and forth, but the combination, for some strange reason, gets them drunk.”

Kitty murmured, “Like an Apache drinking too much
tiswin
.”

“Did you have a bad experience with it?”

“It’s what led Pale Sky to set me free. Her son—Whitebear, he was called—was away somewhere. Otherwise, it wouldn’t have happened, but the other Indians got to drinking, and one of them—Coyotay was his name—hated me because I shot him when I was captured. Pale Sky was afraid he might hurt me, so she led me out of the camp and told me which direction to go to reach the road where the stagecoaches traveled.” She spread her hands and smiled. “So here I am, thanks to her.”

They had begun to walk aimlessly, not noticing how far they had wandered from the buggy.

Ryder urged her to talk on and managed to keep a straight face as she described some of the more primitive sides of Indian life that she had not fondly embraced. But it was all interesting, and he listened keenly, hoping she would say something about her uncle, the gold mine, and, of course, the map.

But she mentioned none of that, and when the desert began to turn pink and purple in the shades of dusk, she gave a little cry and said, “Oh, my goodness. Look how late it’s got. Opal will be in hysterics thinking something’s happened to me.”

Ryder also pretended concern to have let time slip away and wasted no time getting her back to town.

He pulled to a stop in front of the Oriental, saying he would return the horse and buggy.

Again, Kitty did not wait for him to help her down. Her feet hit the boardwalk as Opal came charging out the front door to scream, “Where in the hell have you been? I just sent word to the marshal to get a posse out after you, and…” She trailed as she looked up at Ryder, then said, “Oh, Sam Bodine. She was with you?”

He tipped his hat. “Yes, ma’am. She was hell-bent on going for a ride, so I obliged.”

Opal smiled, relieved. “Well, if I’d have known that, I wouldn’t have worried. Thanks for looking after her.”

He tipped his hat. “My pleasure, ma’am.”

Kitty, he noted, seemed suddenly shy as she murmured, cheeks pinkening, “I really enjoyed the afternoon.”

“We’ll do it again.”

“You come back for her show,” Opal called after him as he snapped the reins and the buggy began to roll. “This time she won’t be interrupted, and you’ll see why all the menfolk are crazy for her.”

Ryder smiled.

He already knew.
Chapter Fifteen

In the following days, Ryder became a permanent fixture around the Oriental Saloon. Attending every performance of the Singing Angel, he was right there to keep Kitty company when she was not onstage.

During the day they were inseparable, going for long rides on horseback, picnicking on the riverbank, and wading in the cool waters.

Others noticed and began whispering how they were sweet on each other and maybe wedding bells would ring soon.

Opal, keeping an eye on the situation, tried to hurry things along. “He’s a good man, I can tell,” she declared to Kitty one morning as she was dressing to go out on another ride. “Sure, he’s a gunslinger, but you can change all that. Marriage will get him in a settling notion. You can get yourself a little spread somewhere, raise a family, and he’ll curl up like an old hound dog. Wait and see.”

“I’m not even thinking about that,” Kitty lied. She was buckling her holster around her waist.

“Well, you’re a fool not to. And how come you’ve got to strap on that gun? It’s not very ladylike.”

“We enjoy practicing now and then. Besides, I feel safer with a gun, even with Sam. You never know what might happen out there. If we were to run up on Indians, two guns would sure be better than one.”

She was wearing one of the simple cotton skirts she had bought for riding, and an off-the-shoulder blouse that was purposely fetching. She had new boots, too, of fine leather, and a suede flat-brimmed hat.

“I’m ready,” she said finally, pulse racing to think of Sam waiting at the livery stable. Never in all her born days had she imagined a man could affect her so. All he had to do was touch her or flash a smile, and her insides felt like she had swallowed Mexican jumping beans.

“So how long are you going to wait before you rope him in?”

There was tension in Opal’s voice, and Kitty turned to see that her expression matched. “You’ve always wanted to get me married, but you’re starting to sound almost desperate. Why?”

Opal did not say anything as she twisted the sash of her robe between nervous fingers. She still lounged most of the day, seldom dressing before time for supper and the evening’s work to begin.

“Opal, something is wrong. What is it?”

“Well, I hate to say anything, but I’ve heard some gossip that’s got me worried.”

“What kind of gossip?”

“About you and Sam.”

Kitty sighed and began pulling on her suede gloves with fringed cuffs. “I figured as much, and it makes me angry. Soiled doves can hang out the windows half-naked trying to entice customers, and nobody says a word. I go for a ride unchaperoned with a man, and everyone talks about it.”

“No, it’s not that.”

“Then what?”

“Haven’t you noticed anything about your audience lately?”

“No,” she said with a shrug. The only person she had eyes for was Sam, and she sang for him. Oh, she tried to move around and look at others, but always her gaze flashed back to him. He had become so special, so dear. Yet, he had not even kissed her. Not even touched her, except to help her up and down off her horse, which always sent little rivulets of pleasure up her spine. He was being a perfect gentleman, but she was starting to feel like anything but a lady. And she wished he would shave his beard, so she could see what he really looked like. She had said as much to Opal once, but Opal pointed out that maybe he was using it as a disguise, because his clean-shaven face was on a “wanted” poster somewhere. That would not be out of the ordinary for a gunslinger. Sometimes they killed people with important relatives who posted rewards. So Kitty did not say anything to him about the beard, allowing that it was his business.

“You haven’t noticed anything?” Opal persisted, the sharpness of her tone puncturing Kitty’s reverie.

“No, why?” Kitty was impatient, anxious to be on her way.

“It’s getting smaller. Four nights ago, there was standing room for the first time since you started singing. Three nights ago, there were empty chairs. And there’s more every night. Morton says Mr. Earp blames it on Sam hanging around.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Not when you think about it,” Opal said delicately. “You don’t realize it, but you don’t sing for the customers, anymore. Only for Sam. So you’re no longer their sweetheart. You’re his.”

Kitty was aghast. “But my voice is the same, and that’s why they come—to hear me sing.”

Opal chuckled. “You silly goose. They never gave a damn about your singing. They just wanted to look at you, because you’re pretty, especially in those fancy gowns. It was a lark, too, your being called the Singing Angel. But now I’m afraid the Singing Angel’s days are numbered, because Mr. Earp is not going to keep you on if you don’t bring in the customers. And when he lets you go, what are you going to do then? It’ll be hard to get another singing job when word gets out you got fired on account of the audience dwindling.”

“I…I don’t know.” Kitty floundered.

Opal rose. “Well, I’d say it’s time you made Sam Bodine start hearing them wedding bells. Otherwise, you’re going to be out on the street. I’ve got a little money put back, but I can’t help you, because I’m saving to get out of here, too. I still got dreams of California. I’m afraid you’ll be on your own if Mr. Wyatt gives you the boot.”