Between Love and Lies (8 page)

He didn’t. At least not how any of this pertained to him. He shrugged and let his gaze wander the lawman’s headquarters.

Behind Masterson, a cabinet full of polished guns was impressive, so were the thick bars and heavy padlock guarding the collection. But what really snared his attention was the half-open door on the other side of the room. It afforded him a view of an unmade bed surrounded by trunks and valises. The addition of dirty plates and coffee mugs scattered about the room amplified a chaos at odds with the Spartan neatness of the main room.

“The baggage ain’t mine.” Masterson’s chair creaked as he leaned back. “When someone dies without people to stand up for ’em, we bury ’em in Boot Hill ’n store their belongings here. Wait for their next of kin to show up.”

The marshal didn’t mention the other clutter. It appeared he’d spent many hours eating and sleeping in the jailhouse, which wasn’t surprising, since a town as rough as Dodge probably kept a lawman busy at any hour of the day or night.

Masterson reclined even further in his chair and propped his feet up on the corner of the desk, at ease, as if he’d made a decision. “You got plans to stay awhile in Dodge?”

“Maybe.”

A smile tugged Masterson’s lips. “Yer sort always over complicates things,” he said, pointing his index finger at Noah. “That much’s certain. How ’bout we lay all our cards on the table? Dodge needs—” he turned his finger on himself, “—I need another hand in this marshaling business.”

Noah stifled a snort. Masterson probably needed a dozen hands. Hell, maybe double that.

“Mr. Ballantyne, are you interested in being my deputy ’n helping me live to see November?”

Despite cautioning himself not to react, Noah sat up a little taller. Become a lawman? He respected Masterson, so assisting the man wouldn’t be a hardship. When he’d left Texas two months ago, he hadn’t expected to remain in Dodge for more than a handful of days. But the minute he’d walked into the Northern Star, his plans had blown away like tumbleweeds across the open prairie.

“Still waiting on my answer. You willing to buy-in to my game? Or is it time to fold ’n skedaddle?”

“I can’t leave Dodge,” Noah admitted.

“’Cause of the redhead over at the Star.”

It was a statement, not a question. Nevertheless, Noah found himself nodding.

Masterson blew out a low whistle. “You got an uphill battle with that one. I should know, ’cause I had a similar challenge. My Lizzie used to work in a saloon in Ellsworth.”

“Where is she now?”

“Across the street in our room at the Dodge House Hotel, waiting for me while I sit here jawing with you.”

“Sounds like you got dealt a losing hand tonight.”

“So did yer redhead last year, from what I heard.”

Noah nodded, remembering that when he’d last been in Dodge, a lawman named Deger had been in charge.

“And still she has a way about her not common to her profession. Can’t count the number of times I seen her blushing like a schoolmarm as she captivates a roomful of ruffians with her singing, or watches in dismay when those fools bet every dollar they own at her card table. A smart man would haul her down to the preacher’s ’n end the game she plays.”

An image of himself standing with Sadie before an altar invaded Noah’s mind. Marriage afforded a woman a measure of safety…if she married an honorable man, one who wouldn’t force her to do anything against her will.

Masterson dug in his desk drawer and tossed a silver star onto the desk. It landed with a ping. The light from the oil lantern caught the metal, glimmering as the badge spun in a circle before coming to rest between them. “Being a deputy might give you an edge in settling whatever business you have with Miss Sullivan.”

“Might get me killed.” Despite his words, Noah had already picked up the badge.

Masterson gave a hoot of laughter. “That it might. Whatever happens, I don’t think yer the type to stand by ’n watch a wrong being perpetrated. That much’s clear from tonight’s events. Could mean you’ll end up participating in more of the same for the duration of yer stay in Dodge. So might as well make it legal ’n get paid for it. Plus, you can bunk here.”

Noah couldn’t contain his grimace.

“The baggage has to stay.” Masterson cracked a grin. “But tidying up everything else can be yer first duty as my deputy.”

“Why me?” Noah scanned the marshal’s face. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“I know that without you a woman might’ve died tonight. I gotta gut feeling. And out here, where trouble comes at you faster’n greased lightning, it pays to listen to yer gut.”

The badge weighed heavy in Noah’s hand.

Masterson’s fingers drummed the desk. Despite his impatience, he hadn’t lost his smile. “Well? Do I have myself a new right-hand man?”

He pinned the star on his vest. “Until I get what I came for, Marshal Masterson.”

Masterson inclined his head in acceptance, which Noah took as his cue to leave. He was halfway to the door when the marshal spoke. “By the way, my name’s Bat…or William Barclay or Bartholomew. But most folks call me Bat. Out of curiosity, Deputy, you got a plan where yer redhead’s concerned?”

Noah sighed. His new boss enjoyed sticking his nose where it wasn’t welcome. It appeared Bat had hired him for more than the role of deputy. He was to be a source of entertainment as well.

“No, but I’m working on one,” he called over his shoulder.

Bat’s laughter followed him out onto to the porch. Directly across stood the Dodge House Hotel, Bat and his lady friend Lizzie’s place of residence. To the left was the Northern Star.

Counting off the windows along the saloon’s second story, he retraced his route when he’d carried a trembling form. His gaze came to a rest on the room at the far corner, the one with the yellow curtains concealing worn wallpaper, a narrow bed and a small but devilishly stubborn woman.

He ransacked his mind for a plan. All he created was a chaos that rivaled Masterson’s storage room. What the hell was he going to do?

* * *

Sadie woke slowly
, struggling through heavy layers of sleep. Memories hounded her, shrouded in fog, then flashed bright as lightning. An arm tightened around her neck. Metal gouged her temple. A gunshot banged. Davenport sprawled at her feet with a bullet in his head.

The gambler’s face morphed into Edward’s. His eyes opened and his lips moved.
Find them.

She surged upright, her gaze ricocheting in every direction.

All she found were faded scarlet walls, the shade of a dying rose. A window aglow with late morning light snagged her attention. Beyond the thin curtain and cracked glass came the rattle of wagons and the clomp of hooves. A steady, rhythmic song of life. A life outside her cage. A life still beyond her reach.

She was in her bedroom above the Star. Nothing had changed…except for the homey scent of soap and leather tickling her nose. More memories skimmed her mind. A rock-hard strength and warmth holding her, followed by an unwavering sense of security.

Curling her fingers into her blanket, she pulled it closer. The scents that had danced through her mind grew stronger: beeswax saddle soap and not only leather but wool. Something thick and unfamiliar lay under her hand.

Noah’s sheepskin coat was draped over her. How did it get in her room?

Understanding dawned. Noah had been here. He’d killed Davenport. After she’d collapsed, he must’ve carried her upstairs, placed her on her bed, and left his coat to keep her warm. Yesterday it had clung to his broad shoulders; now it hugged her body making her skin tingle.

Smoothing a hand down the length of the garment, she imagined Noah’s strength under it.

She jerked her hand back. This was madness. Noah, and the hope he infused in her, increased the risk of discovery or worse. Davenport’s death was a stark reminder of her precarious position.

What did Noah want? She didn’t know. All she knew was she couldn’t trust him.

You can’t trust anyone,
she reminded herself. Her father had used her, first to tend the farm and then to pay his drinking and gambling debts. Gertie had sold her to the highest bidder and now held onto her for her voice, her card dealing skills and the hope that one day she would recover…then the madam would sell her again.

Noah had tried to fix the damage he’d done with money, then ridden away. Now he was back. He couldn’t bed her, so why did he continue hanging around the Star? He was too inquisitive. What if he unraveled her lies and exposed her secrets? What if Gertie found out?

One of Edward’s favorite sayings came to mind.
You can’t bluff if your opponent knows the cards you hold.

Failing would mean betraying Edward and all he’d done for her. All he’d promised to do as well. He’d agreed to pay Gertie whatever price she asked to let him take Sadie with him when he and his partner, Orin, left Dodge. Then Edward had died a painful death.

She hadn’t been able to help him or herself.

It was common knowledge that she’d been the one to find him, in his hotel room at the Great Western—in a pool of his own blood, a suicide note in one hand, a pistol in the other. What everyone in Dodge didn’t know was that when her shock sent her crashing to her knees beside him, Edward’s eyes had opened.

He hadn’t been dead. Not quite.

“Find them,” he’d whispered.

Hope had shot through. For an instant she’d thought she could save him. He’d been the one person in town who’d helped her, the only one she counted as a friend. It was unthinkable that she might not be able to help him in return.

She’d jumped to her feet. “I’ll find the doctor.”

“Too late.” His eyes had beseeched her to stay. “I caught her robbing my—” His breathing had grown labored and when he spoke again, his words had tumbled out in harsh gasps. “Don’t let her keep them. Steal them back. Use them to leave Dodge. Promise me you’ll find—my father’s watch—my mother’s box.” His breath hissed between his teeth. “My letter.”

She’d glanced at the piece of paper clenched in his hand, then back at his face.

Anger twisted his features. “Not—mine. Not—” His entire body spasmed. “Not suicide.” He stared past her, his eyes bulging with pain and fear.

She’d wrapped her hands around his, so he’d know he wasn’t alone. “I’m here. I’ll help you. I promise.”

His eyes had flared even wider and then closed.

“No! Stay with me. Talk to me. Tell me who hurt you.”

His hand went limp in hers as he breathed one last word, “Gertie.”

She’d made her vow to a silent room. “I swear I’ll make her pay…in whatever way I can. She won’t keep what she stole.”

It’d taken all her willpower to release his hand, to leave the suicide note in its place and not rip it to shreds. Gertie couldn’t suspect that Edward had spoken to her. She couldn’t know the card Sadie meant to play, for Edward and herself.

The moment she fulfilled her pledge to retrieve Edward’s most cherished possessions, she’d stowaway on a train for Chicago, sell them there and use the funds to run even farther. No one would catch her. She’d disappear. Far away and forever.

She couldn’t let Noah Ballantyne interfere with her promise or her plans for the future. Not again.

CHAPTER 6

“It’s a shame
you won’t reconsider and keep me company on the trail home.” Lewis slapped Noah on the back. “Fully understand your reasons for staying now though.”

Noah propped his shoulder against the jailhouse post and stared at the Northern Star. Standing around trying to figure out how to help Sadie was becoming a habit. A damned frustrating one. He needed that plan Bat mentioned. Now.

Even though they were alone on the porch, Lewis leaned closer, his voice taking on a confidential tone. “If you hadn’t shot that worthless son of a sidewinder last night, I sure as hell would’ve. There wouldn’t have been a rock he could’ve hidden under. I’d have found him and brought your girl back to you.”

Noah swallowed his retort that Sadie wasn’t “his girl.” Buried deep beneath Lewis happy-go-lucky temperament was a territorial streak as wide as it was long. The only times Noah had seen him angry was when someone threatened to take what belonged to him or someone he cared about.

As quickly as Lewis’ ill humor surfaced, it vanished under an easy smile. He stepped down to the street where his horse stood at the hitching post. With sure movements gleaned from a lifetime on the range, he checked the ties on his bedroll and saddle bags. “Having said that…” He paused to tighten the cinch. “You’d best take good care of Miss Sullivan or, friend or not, I’ll come back, sweep her off her feet and make her mine.”

“I told you before. I only want to—”

“Help her. An honorable wish.” Lewis rested his elbows on his saddle. The worry etching his brow made the muscles along Noah’s shoulders bunch. “Fact is, if you don’t claim her, someone else will. If not you or me, then probably…Wardell.”

The name struck Noah like a punch to the gut, making him suck in his breath. “I don’t think she’d take kindly to anyone
claiming
her,” he muttered, shooting another glance at the Star. “All she wants is her farm back.”