Diablo (14 page)

Robin stared at him, confused. “Then why did you become an outlaw?”

Kane shrugged and lied. He didn't want to give young Robin any excuse to admire him. “It was easier than workin'. At least I thought so then. I don't now. Hanging isn't easy, boy. Neither is a bullet in the gut, and that's what I have to look forward to.”

“I don't believe you,” Robin said. “You aren't afraid of anything.”

“Only a fool isn't afraid of dying,” Kane said. “Especially dying alone.” He felt infinitely tired. Drained. Like he'd been sucked of all life. Everyone wanted something from him: Masters, Nat Thompson, Robin. Even Nicky. They all wanted him to be something he wasn't. Masters wanted a traitor, Thompson a man as ruthless as he, Robin a gunfighter to emulate. And Nicky … Nicky wanted a hero. She'd mistaken his actions in the kitchen for those of a knight in a book. He had the world's sorriest armor, as tarnished as it got.

His voice suddenly softened as he saw Robin's face fall. “Come on, we'll go feed your hawk. You'll need a heavy glove.…”

Kane moved back to the hotel that night. It wasn't entirely his doing, but he wasn't regretful about it. Andy had pronounced him free of infection and well enough to move around. The blacksmith had been carefully neutral, but Kane had sensed a reserve that hadn't been there earlier.

Kane knew he'd lost his chance to explore the drawers further, but it had been damned risky in the first place. And staying in the same house as Nicole Thompson was like putting a match to dynamite. It made the other risk comparable to a child playing in the sand.

If he'd had no feeling for her, he could probably have controlled his more lustful longings. At least, he thought he could. But he
did
have other feelings. His body responded to her in the damnedest ways. He couldn't seem to take his eyes from her, from that tentative smile, or from the depth of her eyes, the way her body moved under the ill-fitting clothes that only hinted at something fine beneath. His blood started racing, and his throat felt as if it were weighed with stone. He didn't even want to think about the other parts of his body.

Worse, though, was the passion and energy that radiated from her, that had so entrapped him earlier in the day. Despite the accident with the stove, he'd discovered she was an excellent cook. She was also a fine rider and markswoman, according to Robin. Nicole Thompson evidently had the determination and intelligence to do many things well, and a passion for life that promised … paradise as a lover. The fact she'd had so little experience with being a woman had only spurred her to be more bold and adventuresome.

He tried to tell himself that was all it was. That physical magnetism, and her complexity, was the sum of his attraction. But then his gaze would meet hers, and that wistful, almost fragile vulnerability reached out and struck a part of his heart.

Kane jerked himself back to reality. She was as fragile as a rattlesnake. He'd seen her stand over Yancy. She must know what her uncle had been doing all these years. She must know about the lawmen that had disappeared, just as he knew he would disappear if he weren't more careful. He'd been self-indulgent, playing with fire that was far more dangerous than that in the kitchen, and whose burns could prove far more deadly.

Still, as he walked over to the hotel, acknowledging the curious nods of the other guests, he knew he would miss her presence, and that of young Robin, who reminded him so much of himself years ago. He'd planned to conquer the world, too. Show it exactly how tough he was.

He'd shown it all right, all the way to a hangman's noose.

Sam Hildebrand stopped him before he reached the hotel. “Heard tell you've been staying with Thompson.” He eyed the blistered skin on Kane's hand avidly.

Kane nodded.

“Ain't no one done that before.”

“Maybe no one got burned in his kitchen before.” The last thing Kane needed now was resentment from the other guests. God knew he had enough people on his back.

Sam absorbed that piece of information, then nodded. “Poker game tonight. You in?”

Hell, why not? It was better than sitting in his room, staring at walls and wondering what in the devil's name he was going to do now. “Yeah.”

Sam hesitated a moment. “You been with Thompson's daughter? We all been real curious about her.”

Kane wanted to hit him. There was a leering curiosity in his eyes, a knowing smirk on his lips. He knew one thing about these kind of men, though: Show one sign of weakness and you're dead. Maybe not immediately, but it would be stored for future reference. Soft men didn't survive long among this company.

Kane shook his head. “You know Thompson's rules. No woman's worth getting killed for. Or hung. I don't fancy leaving yet.”

Damn, he hated explaining himself to the likes of Hildebrand.

“We don't want you to,” said Hildebrand. “You've won too much of our damned money.”

Kane relaxed slightly. “You'll have a chance to even things tonight.”

“Rosita's later?” A question lingered in Hildebrand's eyes, and Kane knew he hadn't really given up the subject of Nicky. In fact, he was probably sent as emissary from the others to pry.

Kane shook his head. “My back hurts too bad for the kind of activity I like.”

“Burned that bad?”

“Bad enough.”

“You really save the girl?”

Damn, but this place was a sieve of information. Andy? He doubted it. It was more likely Robin. “You hear that from the boy?”

“Yep. He was braggin' 'bout his friend, Diablo.” There was derision in his voice, a dangerous edge of jealousy.

“Well, forget it. He's a kid. He exaggerates everything. I was just getting some water when the fire flamed. It caught both of us.”

Hildebrand smiled slyly, then shrugged. “See you later.”

Kane swore again as he made his way up to his room. He hadn't liked the look in Hildebrand's eyes. He was up to something, and Kane had the sinking feeling that he, Kane, was part of it. He was a fly caught in a web, and the number of spiders was increasing. The question was whether they were going to destroy each other before they got to him.

Nicky debated with herself all night before she visited Andy's wife, Juanita. She didn't own a dress, hadn't owned a dress since the day after her father died, when Uncle Nat had taken her and her brother and fled Austin, Texas. Nicky had been tending Robin in a rented room while their father had “gone out on business.”

Her uncle had returned alone, and she'd known instantly that her father wasn't coming back. She'd known even then he was a robber, that she had to be careful about what she said to the various housekeepers and what few people she met.

Uncle Nat had taken her dress and given her trousers instead, said it would be easier riding that way. It was, and he'd never seen the need to buy her anything else. Neither had she. She had loved the freedom of trousers. Later, when she realized men were looking at her differently, she was grateful for the almost shapeless clothes.

But now she wanted to wear a dress. She wanted Kane O'Brien to notice she was a woman. She wanted to be pretty for him. She swallowed hard, remembering those long-ago vows that she would never care for an outlaw, never suffer what her mother suffered.

Kane was different, though. She longed to see that too-rare smile. She yearned to see admiration in his eyes. Juanita, she knew, could help her. Juanita would loan her a dress and help her do something with her hair, short as it was.

Then she would ask Kane O'Brien to dinner tomorrow night. She didn't think her uncle would object, not now. She had seen Kane leave, whole and well, and her uncle had been expansive after their meeting. He was interested in Kane for some reason of his own, a reason that Nicky no longer believed spelled danger for her outlaw. Nat Thompson didn't like many people, but he apparently liked Kane O'Brien.

She picked up her pace, even as her stomach quaked in uncertainty. She had made a decision. A fatal one, maybe, but inevitable. She couldn't say she loved Kane O'Brien. She didn't know that much about love. What she felt might be gratitude, or attraction, or curiosity. Need. Desperation. Or just plain lust. She didn't know. She only knew she had to find out.

Gooden, Texas

Mary May Hamilton's gaze went to the tall, lean drifter who had become a frequent customer at the Blazing Star Saloon. She'd watched him for the past month. He came in, took a seat by a wall, ordered two glasses of whiskey, never more, and left. He was always alone, but his eyes never stopped moving, watching.

She'd approached him several times and was rebuffed gently. So were the other girls at the Blazing Star. “Nothing personal,” he would say. “Just prefer my own company.”

It was her job to cozy up to patrons, get them to drink more, buy her fancy concoctions that were little more than water. It was up to her whether she wanted to take things further. Sometimes she did; more likely she didn't. Mary May didn't consider herself a whore. She didn't take money for loving; she just enjoyed it if the man was right. And she was very particular. The man had to be clean, attractive, and gentlemanly. The stranger fit all those qualifications. He didn't try to grab her backside or make ribald remarks, and he had steady eyes, not cruel ones.

It had been a long time since last she'd been pleasured, and she was feeling that familiar ache that plagued her after a long abstinence.

She had another reason to want to know the stranger better. She had a sideline business: information. She provided tidbits now and then to a man called Calico who paid her handsomely. That money, and most of the dollars she earned at the Blazing Star, went to Mrs. Culworthy in another town. Mrs. Culworthy cared for Mary May's three-year-old daughter, Sarah Ann.

So the stranger interested her in more ways than one. Calico wanted information on strangers. He wanted information on anyone who asked about a place called Sanctuary. He wanted to know about anyone who seemed to be running from the law, or anyone who
was
the law. Mary May suspected the stranger was one of the two.

She had given Calico the name of a man with a scarred face weeks earlier, and had earned a good sum of money for it. She had seen that same man talking in the alley to this one. Mary May hadn't voiced that particular observation to Calico, though she wasn't sure why. Maybe because more information' would mean more money. Or maybe because the stranger intrigued her. She usually had any man she wanted; men took great pride in being selected by her. But not this one. So far.

Though he wore no badge, she had a nagging suspicion he had something to do with the law. He had a military bearing: straight back and confident tilt of his head. There was something always alert about him despite the lazy pose he affected in the saloon and the slight limp that would be imperceptible to most. There were certain things a man couldn't hide. Not from her. She knew men far too well. Because she enjoyed most men and had an honest fear of others, she'd learned to sniff danger.

The stranger smelled of exactly that. He had the assurance of a man who had faced death and won, and who was comfortable with decisions he'd made. He fascinated her. He had from the day he'd first declined her company.

Mary May had few illusions about herself. She was not beautiful, but she loved a good joke and laughed easily, and had learned to turn aside unwanted overtures with a good nature that defused trouble. When she dealt cards, she did it well and honestly, determined not to make her husband's mistakes. He'd been a gambler, and had caught a bullet when found cheating, leaving her a pregnant widow with few skills. Her only assets had been her smile and body.

It wasn't a bad life at the Blazing Star. The owner, Dan Calhoun, watched out for his girls. If they attracted gamblers and sold enough liquor for him, he didn't care whether they sold more than liquor.

Her gaze wandered over to the tall stranger again. He had finished his first glass of whiskey. His feet were stretched out, as if he hadn't a care in the world. Yet she had the impression of a coiled rattlesnake. Not the menace, exactly, but the striking power.

She turned to the bartender. “Tom, I'll take him the second glass.”

He shrugged. “Gonna try again?”

“Hell, why not?” she said.

He grinned. “There's a bet over which one of you girls will break him down.”

“You and Dan doing the betting?”

“Yep.”

“What's the stakes?”

“Ten greenbacks.”

“Who bet on me?”

“I wouldn't bet against you, love.”

“Why, that two-faced, no-good …”

“Aw, come on, Mary, we tossed for you and he lost. He took all the others.”

She felt better. She checked the stranger from under lightly painted eyelids. He was looking ruefully at his empty glass, waiting patiently for a refill. She got the feeling he did a lot of waiting. Question was why. Two kinds of men waited: outlaws waiting on a job, and law dogs waiting to catch them.

She took the glass of whiskey to his table. Ordinarily when she wanted a man's attention, she'd put a hand on his shoulder or wink at him. She didn't think either approach would work in this case. Instead, she stood silently, forcing him to acknowledge her.

“You waiting for someone?” she finally said, still not setting the glass down in front of him.

Those watching eyes slid over her, noted every detail. She felt naked.

“I'm waiting for that,” he said, indicating the glass in her hand.

“You've been in here every day.” It was a dumb observation. Of course, he knew he'd been in every day, but she was at a loss as to how to continue the conversation. She wasn't going to ask him whether he wanted company. He would say no, and that would be the end of that.

His eyes were a slate gray-blue like first dawn. Clear. No sign of whiskey blur. She hadn't seen him smile, but suddenly he did, and her knees went weak. The smile transformed the hard face. “An astute observation,” he said.