LaceysWay (20 page)

She felt suddenly sick to her stomach as she realized she
might have killed him, but there was no time to worry about that. Quickly she
took the Indian’s knife and cut Matt free.

“You little fool,” Matt hissed, “what do you think you’re
doing?”

“I think I’m saving your life,” Lacey retorted.

Matt grinned broadly as he took the knife from her hand and
stuck it in his belt. “I think you’re right,” he agreed. “Let’s get the hell
out of here.”

Matt quickly bound the warrior’s hands and feet, stuffed the
Indian’s headband into his mouth, took his rifle, and then, like shadows, they
drifted out of the village.

Wordlessly Matt led the way to the horse herd. A sharp right
cross rendered the herd boy unconscious. Moments later they were riding away
from the village.

“Do you think they will come after us?” Lacey asked when
they were well away from the Apache camp.

Matt shrugged. “Who knows? The Apache are unpredictable
creatures at best.”

Lacey nodded. There was no way to tell what the Indians
would do. She could only hope for the best.

They rode for several hours, then Matt dismounted and,
handing the reins of his horse to Lacey, began to erase their tracks as they
went along. It was a tedious job, but when he was finished, he was reasonably
certain the Indians wouldn’t be able to guess which way they had gone.
Hopefully, finding them would take more time and effort than the Apache would
wish to spend.

It was dawn when Matt lifted Lacey from the back of her
horse. Unsaddling her mount, he hobbled the mare next to his own horse. Then,
taking the saddle blanket in one hand and Lacey’s arm in the other, he made his
way through the brush until he came to a small thicket. Spreading the blanket
on the ground, he took Lacey in his arms.

“That was a brave thing you did,” he said gruffly. “If you’d
been caught, you might have been killed.”

“It was a chance I had to take,” Lacey replied. “I couldn’t
let them kill you.”

“You could have,” Matt countered quietly. He gazed into her
eyes, his heart filling with love and gratitude for the woman in his arms. She
was shy and soft-spoken, yet she had the heart of a lioness.

Lacey returned Matt’s gaze and then, overwhelmed with
happiness because they were both alive and well, she grinned up at him.

“You don’t act very grateful,” she said impishly.

Matt quirked an eyebrow at her. “Don’t I?”

“No. If you were really grateful, you’d kiss me and—”

His mouth dropped over hers, silencing her as he kissed her
again and again. Hardly aware that he was doing so, he sank to the ground,
carrying Lacey with him. His kisses became more intense, more ardent, until he
was on fire with his need for her. His hands roamed over her back and
shoulders, caressing her satiny skin as he impatiently removed her clothing,
delighting in the smooth perfection of each lovely limb.

Lacey responded to his touch eagerly, willingly, joyfully.
Her hands tugged at Matt’s clothing, wanting to feel his body next to her own,
needing his touch. Her fingertips traced the muscles in his arms, delighting in
the strength sleeping there. Her tongue danced over his flat belly and she
laughed softly, seductively, as he shivered with pleasure. He was here, he was
hers.

She sat up abruptly as her fingers encountered the bandage
swathed around his middle. In the excitement of being with him, she had
forgotten about his wound. Now she saw that there was fresh blood on the
bandage. He was bleeding, hurting, and she had been so mad with desire she
hadn’t even noticed.

“Lacey.” Matt groaned her name as she drew away from him.

“Oh, Matt,” Lacey whispered, mistaking his groan of desire
for pain. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think…I mean, I forgot you were hurt.”

“It isn’t my side that’s hurting,” Matt said, his dark eyes
glinting roguishly.

“Matt, we shouldn’t.”

“I’m fine,” he assured her. “Come here, and I’ll prove it to
you.”

Still, Lacey did not relent. As much as she wanted to make
love to him, his recovery was more important. There would be other days, other
nights.

“Stubborn wench,” Matt muttered, and pulling her down beside
him once more, he rose over her, his hands on either side of her head as his
mouth plundered her.

The touch of Matt’s lips drove the last shred of resistance
from Lacey’s mind. With a sigh, she arched up to meet him, her thighs parting
to receive that part of him that made her whole, complete. Little moans of
ecstasy rumbled in her throat as Matt made sweet love to her, his hands gently
stroking her breasts and thighs and belly as his body joined hers, their souls
almost touching as they soared to the pinnacle of rapture that only true lovers
ever know.

Afterward, Matt held Lacey close, his fingertips tenderly
tracing the outline of her face, drifting over her lips, down the slender
column of her neck.

“You might have been killed,” he muttered, the thought
haunting him still. “Don’t ever take a risk like that again. Promise me.”

“No,” Lacey said, shaking her head. “Whatever happens to you
happens to me.” She smiled at him, hoping to lighten his mood. “I plan to
follow you right into heaven.”

“Or hell?” Matt mused, grinning back at her.

“Or hell,” she whispered, and surrendered her lips to his
kiss.

They were traveling again at first light, crossing a flat
gray desert that was covered with cacti and palo-verde and greasewood.

“Where are we going?” Lacey asked.

“Tucson,” Matt replied, and then he laughed. “Seems we’re
always starting out broke and on the run.”

“We may be on the run,” Lacey said, “but we’re not broke.”

“We’re not?”

Lacey shook her head. “We’ve still got the money you won in
that awful little town, remember?”

“Yeah, now that you mention it.”

“Why are we going to Tucson?”

“We need clothes and supplies.”

Lacey nodded. “And then what?”

“I’ve got to find out who killed Billy Henderson. If we’re
gonna have any kind of life together, I’ve got to clear my name.”

“How do you intend to find out who killed him?”

“Beats the hell out of me.”

“So what are we going to do?”

“Play it by ear, Lacey girl,” Matt said with a lighthearted
grin. “Just play it by ear.”

Chapter Twelve

Some days later Matt and Lacey arrived in Tucson. It was an
old town, surrounded by rolling foothills and craggy peaks. The town had been
built on a low ridge along the banks of the Santa Cruz River. It was a busy
place, always humming with activity. Squat, thick-walled adobe buildings lined
both sides of the streets at irregular intervals. There were no sidewalks. When
it rained, the mud was a foot deep.

As they rode down the dusty street, Lacey’s first thought
was that every building seemed to be a cantina. Women in long dresses made
their way through the town, going shopping or to church. There were soldiers
and businessmen and numerous children and dogs.

She wrinkled her nose as the mingled odors of coffee,
grease, spicy food, chili, mesquite smoke, and dust assailed her nostrils. From
somewhere came the soft sound of guitar music, but it was quickly lost in the
rattle of wagon wheels and the somber wail of a mission bell.

Matt drew rein at a hotel, got them settled into a room, and
then took Lacey shopping. He bought her a new dress, underthings, shoes and
stockings, a lacy white parasol, a perky bonnet with pink and blue ribbons, and
a pale blue shawl with long fringe. For himself, Matt bought a suit of black
broadcloth, a white linen shirt, and a wine-red vest embroidered with tiny pink
satin flowers. He also purchased a black, flat-brimmed Stetson, a pair of
expensive black leather boots, and a gunbelt and holster, complete with a new
Colt .44.

Lacey stared at him, speechless, as he donned his new finery
back in their hotel room. He looked every inch a gambler. And terribly
handsome. The black broadcloth molded itself to his broad shoulders and long,
muscular legs; the snowy white shirt perfectly complemented his dark hair and
midnight-blue eyes while emphasizing his tawny skin. She felt her heart flutter
with feminine admiration. He was beautiful, and he was hers.

“I’ve decided the best thing to do is just hang around the
saloon in Salt Creek,” Matt mused aloud. “No better place to hear the latest
gossip, you know. And it’s the last place anyone will think to look for me.”

Lacey nodded. They had been lucky so far. Matt had spied a
wanted poster on the bulletin board outside the Marshal’s office. It had been
disconcerting, seeing his name and likeness on such a thing. Still, no one who
had seen Matt before would be likely to recognize him now. His hair had grown
long in the last few months. He had grown a thick moustache, long sideburns,
and a closely cropped beard that made him look devilishly handsome.

Lacey slipped into her new dress and admired herself in the
mirror. It was nice to be clean again, dressed like a lady instead of a wild
Indian.

She frowned at her reflection as she recalled the last time
Matt had worked in a saloon.

“I’m not going to sit in some crummy hotel night after night
like I did the last time,” she remarked petulantly.

“No?”

“No.”

“Just what do you want to do?” Matt asked, though he had a
terrible hunch he already knew the answer. And he was right.

“I want to be with you. If you’re going to spend all your
time in a saloon, so am I.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I don’t want to argue about it, Matthew Drago,” Lacey said
in a determined tone. “If you can pretend to be a gambler, then I can pretend
to be a dancehall girl.”

“But I’m not pretending,” Matt said, tweaking her nose. “I
am
a gambler. And a damn good one.”

“Well, I can be a dancehall girl. I can serve drinks as well
as anyone else.”

“No, Lacey. I won’t have it.”

“Please, Matt,” Lacey said, pouting prettily. “I want to be
where you are.” Standing on tiptoe, she kissed him, her fingers playing in his
hair. “Can’t I at least try it?”

“We’ll see,” Matt drawled. His hand cupped her breast as his
mouth traveled leisurely over her eyes and nose and sweet pink lips.

Little bursts of excitement exploded in Lacey’s stomach as
Matt began to arouse her. It never failed to fill her with wonder that this
incredibly handsome man found her desirable. She loved to look at him, to see
the desire flare in his eyes, to hear his voice grow husky with longing when he
murmured her name. He had only to touch her and she melted in his arms like butter
over a flame, everything else forgotten in the joy of his caress, the wonder of
his love, the thrill of being possessed by such a man.

Soon they were lying side by side on the bed, their new
clothes piled in an untidy heap on the floor. Once, Lacey had blushed to let
Matt make love to her in the light of day, but no more. She found pleasure in
the sight of his masculine strength, and it pleased her to know that he found
her body beautiful in return. She touched his face with her fingertips,
marveling anew that a man could be so beautiful, that she had the power to
arouse him.

And then Matt was rising over her, his body blocking every
other sight and thought from her mind. She craved his touch, his kiss, his
caress. Only with Matt did she feel whole, complete. Always, when they were
apart, she felt bereft, as though a vital portion of her being was missing.

With a sigh, she wrapped her arms and legs around his waist,
holding him tighter, tighter, wanting to draw him closer until they were one
flesh, one body, one soul.

Later, lying content in his arms, she knew that everything
would be all right so long as she had Matt beside her.

* * * * *

They spent a leisurely week in Tucson. Matt bought Lacey
several more dresses. They dined at the city’s finest restaurant, walked hand
in hand through the town, went to see a play by a traveling Shakespearean
company. And on Sunday morning Lacey coaxed Matt into taking her to church.

Matt felt decidedly uncomfortable sitting on the back pew,
his hat in his hand. He had not been inside a church since Leticia Drago had
forced him to attend Sunday school over twenty years ago. He had never thought
of himself as a sinful man, yet he knew he had done a number of things that
would be frowned on by most of the people sitting around him.

Lacey was familiar with the hymns, and she had a lovely
clear voice that made him feel good just listening to her. The sermon was long
and dry, Matt thought, but Lacey listened intently as the preacher spoke of
loving your enemy and making restitution to those you had wronged. He was glad
when the service was over and they were again out in the sunshine.

Lacey seemed preoccupied as they walked back to the hotel.
At the entrance to the hotel, she paused and laid her hand on his arm.

“Would you do something for me, Matt?” she asked hesitantly.

“Anything, honey. You know that.” He smiled at her
mischievously. “Didn’t I just take you to church?”

Lacey nodded. “When I left Salt Creek to follow my father, I
stole some clothes and some food. Would you give me enough money to pay for the
things I took?”

“You took that sermon to heart, didn’t you?”

“Don’t make fun of me, Matt.”

“I wasn’t,” he apologized.

“I always intended to pay for what I took,” Lacey said.
“Will you help me?”

“Sure, Lacey.”

Her smile was radiant. “Thank you, Matt.”

Matt Drago grinned. He had married a good woman, he thought,
pleased and a trifle amused. No doubt she would see to it that he became a
righteous, God-fearing man in due time. He wouldn’t mind, not really. He’d do
anything she asked of him. Anything at all.

But first he had to clear his name.

Salt Creek had not changed much in their absence. It
remained a thriving town, growing daily as new people made their way across the
plains to settle in the West.

After getting a room at the hotel, Matt and Lacey made their
way to the saloon where Matt had been accused of killing Billy Henderson. Matt
was wearing his black broadcloth suit, and several women turned to stare at him
as they walked down the street. Jealousy stabbed at Lacey’s heart, and she laid
her hand over Matt’s arm in an age-old gesture that clearly said, “He’s mine.”

Lacey glanced up at her husband. It had never occurred to
her that other women would find Matt attractive. Now, studying his rugged
profile, she realized that a woman would have to be dead or blind to be immune
to Matt Drago’s masculine beauty and virile strength. Just looking at him was
enough to set feminine hearts aflutter.

She had never realized she was the jealous type, but when
Matt smiled at a pretty young woman as they crossed the street, Lacey almost
choked. What was happening to her?

Matt patted Lacey’s arm as they reached the Black Horse
Saloon. “Nervous?”

“A little,” she admitted. “I’ve only been in a saloon once
before, you know.”

“Yeah. And you remember how
that
turned out, don’t
you?” Matt muttered dryly. “Dammit, Lacey, won’t you please go back to the
hotel?”

“Matt—”

“I know, I know, you want to be a saloon girl. Dammit, what
would your father say?”

“He’ll never know.” Lacey took a deep breath. “I’m ready.”

Matt nodded grimly. What did a man do with a woman as
stubborn as Lacey? “Here we go,” he muttered, and stepped into the saloon.

The place was quiet at this time of the day. A lone
bartender stood behind the bar, idly polishing a shot glass. Two men sat at the
far table. One appeared to be asleep; the other was playing solitaire.

“How do we find the boss?” Lacey asked.

“I think that’s him coming toward us.”

Lacey smiled uncertainly as a tall man in a brown pinstripe
suit emerged from the shadows.

“I’m Tucker,” the man said. He eyed Matt and Lacey
speculatively as Matt introduced himself as Matthew Walker and asked for a job.

“You any good with a deck of cards?” Tucker asked.

“Try me.”

“I run a clean place here,” Tucker said. “No dealing off the
bottom, no extra aces, no tricks.”

“I can deal ‘em any way you like.”

Tucker nodded slowly. He had always been a good judge of
men, and he knew instinctively that the man was as good as he said he was.
“Who’s the girl?”

“My wife. Lacey.”

Tucker’s eyebrows shot up. “Your wife! What the hell is she
doing in here?”

“She wants to work.”

Tucker looked skeptical. Lacey Walker didn’t appear to be a
saloon girl. “What does she do?”

Matt grinned. “She wants to serve drinks.”

“That’s all?”

“That’s all.”

J.J. Tucker frowned thoughtfully. Most of the girls in the
saloon did more than serve drinks. Still, the gambler’s wife was a beautiful
woman. And men were always fascinated by what they couldn’t have. Maybe the
girl would be good to have around, just to dress up the place, give it a little
class. The other saloon girls weren’t bad looking exactly, but they all looked
old and used compared to the gambler’s woman.

“I’ll give you both a try starting tonight,” Tucker decided.
“Eight o’clock ‘til two. Don’t be late.”

Lacey patted her hair nervously as she gazed at her
reflection in the mirror. She was wearing the dress Tucker had sent over to the
hotel. It was flaming red, with long sleeves and a short ruffled skirt. The
neck was square, provocatively low-cut.

“What do you think, Matt?” she asked, pirouetting in front
of him.

“I think you should stay home,” he answered curtly.

“No. I’m going with you.”

“Dammit, Lacey, I don’t want a roomful of cowhands leering
at you while you parade around in that getup. Good Lord, what would your father
say if he could see you now?”

“I don’t know,” Lacey mumbled, but she did know. Her father
would be scandalized to think of his daughter wearing such an outfit, and even
more shocked to know she was going to serve drinks in a saloon.

“Well, I know what he’d say,” Matt muttered, “and he’d be
right.”

“Matt, please let me do this. I might be able to learn
something about who killed Billy Henderson.”

She was right, Matt thought bleakly. A few drinks and most
men would tell a pretty woman anything she wanted to know.

Some of Lacey’s enthusiasm waned as she stepped into the
saloon that night. It was Saturday and the saloon was crowded with cowhands and
townsmen looking for a little relaxation after a hard day, or perhaps a little
excitement. The air was filled with smoke from dozens of cigars and cigarettes.
Men could be heard talking and laughing above the tinny notes of a piano.
Several women, all clad in dresses similar to Lacey’s, wandered around the
saloon, serving drinks, smiling and laughing and flirting with the customers.
Lacey felt her cheeks grow hot as she watched one of the saloon girls go
upstairs with a middle-aged cowboy.

J.J. Tucker came through the crowd to greet them. His eyes,
a cool, pale green, lingered on Lacey for a long moment.

“You look fine, just fine,” the saloon owner remarked. “Just
wander around and take orders. I’ve passed the word that you’re spoken for, so
there shouldn’t be any trouble, but who knows?” Tucker shrugged nonchalantly.
“If any of the customers give you a bad time, you come to me and I’ll take care
of it.” Tucker glanced at Matt. “You can take over for Brill at table five. Are
you carrying a piece?”

“What do you think?”

Tucker nodded. “Try not to use it.”

As Tucker turned away, Matt took Lacey in his arms and kissed
her soundly. She was his, and he intended for every man in the saloon to know
it.

Lacey blushed from the roots of her hair to the soles of her
feet as Matt’s lips branded her own. Breathless, she gazed into his eyes, a
flutter of excitement blossoming in her belly. She had never been kissed in
public except by her relatives, and a public display of affection embarrassed
her even as it pleased her. There was a boisterous round of applause when Matt
let her go.

The next few hours passed quickly. Matt dealt the cards
easily, his fingers nimble, his manner relaxed and friendly. He felt a sense of
homecoming as he sat there with a drink at his elbow and a fresh deck in his
hand. Perhaps this was where he belonged, where he was destined to spend his
life, because no matter what else happened, it seemed he always ended up in a
saloon with a deck of cards in his hands. He was sorely tempted to deal an ace
or two off the bottom, just for the hell of it. He’d never thought to earn his
living with a deck of cards again. Indeed, the short time he had spent gambling
the past winter had reminded him of why he had quit in the first place. And
yet, sitting there, idly shuffling the deck, he felt right at home.