LaceysWay (5 page)

“What are we going to do?”

“Beats the hell out of me. We can’t follow both trails, and
while we’re following one set of tracks, the other’s going to get cold.” Matt
glanced northward. “It’ll be winter in a few more weeks.”

“And the rain will wash out all the tracks,” Lacey said,
finishing his thought.

“Right.”

“Well, we’ve got to do something.”

“Yeah.” Matt walked along one set of tracks for several
yards, then crossed to the other. “I don’t know,” he muttered, shaking his
head. “He’s your father. You decide.”

“Which direction would you go?”

Matt shrugged. “The Apaches generally spend the winter
across the border, and they usually travel in small groups. I’d say go south.”

“South, then,” Lacey agreed.

Matt nodded. Moments later, they were riding toward the
border.

Three days later they reached the outskirts of a small town.
Lacey objected to stopping, wanting to stay on the trail while it was clear and
easy to follow, but Matt was adamant. They needed food. He needed a horse and a
better weapon than Lacey’s little derringer. And they were going to need some
warm clothing.

Lacey grimaced as they rode down the narrow dusty street. It
was an ugly little town. The buildings were run-down and shabby, the paint
peeling and faded. She counted four saloons on one side of the street, two on
the other. A single hotel was situated in the center of town. There were no
houses in evidence, nor did there appear to be a law office, or a church.

“I don’t suppose you’ve got any money?” Matt remarked, and
Lacey regretfully shook her head.

“Well, then, we’ll just have to pawn your saddle and hope my
luck’s good at the card table.”

“Are you a gambler?” Lacey asked in surprise.

“Only when I have to be.”

“Are you any good?” Lacey asked dubiously.

“Good enough.”

“And what happens if you aren’t good enough? My father paid
a lot of money for that saddle. I don’t want to lose it.”

“We’re doing this for your father,” Matt reminded her. “Come
on, let’s see how much we can get for your rig.”

Lacey followed Matt into a dingy store between two small
saloons. She stayed near the doorway while Matt bargained with the owner, a
ruddy-faced man with a bulbous nose and yellow teeth.

They haggled for quite some time. Matt was muttering under
his breath when he stalked out of the building.

“Damn thief,” he growled. “Come on, let’s go get some grub.”

There was a tiny restaurant wedged between a saloon and a
vacant building near the end of town. Lacey was terribly self-conscious as she
followed Matt into the place. No lady would ever dream of appearing in public
wearing pants, but Matt had given her no opportunity to change.

She kept her head down as he ordered steak and potatoes for
the two of them. The woman who took their order gave Lacey a look of disdain,
but she was all smiles when she looked at Matt.

“After we eat, we’ll get a room and get cleaned up,” Matt
said, thinking aloud. “And then I’ll go find a card game while you get some
sleep.”

“I’m not staving anywhere in this town alone,” Lacey
informed him. “I’ll bet the whole place is crawling with outlaws.”

“You’re probably right,” Matt allowed, “but ladies don’t
frequent saloons.”

“They don’t ride astride or wear pants, either,” Lacey
retorted.

Matt glared at her across the table. What a stubborn
creature she was, always wanting things her own way—and getting it.

Their dinner arrived a few minutes later and Matt attacked
his steak with a vengeance. It was the first decent meal he’d had in months.
The food back in the Salt Creek jail hadn’t been anything to brag about.
Considering the circumstances, he supposed he had been lucky the sheriff had
fed him at all. He had spent six weeks in that damn cell, waiting for the wagon
that would transport him to Yuma. It had been a long six weeks. Nothing to do
but pace back and forth, or sit on the edge of his bunk and count the bricks in
the wall. Time and time again he had thought about that night in the saloon.
And, thinking about it now, he wondered if someone had deliberately set him up
to take the fall. He had been a stranger in town. There had only been five
other men in the saloon that night, the three men who had accused him, young
Billy Henderson, and the barkeep, all long-time residents of Salt Creek.
Henderson was dead, and the barkeep had refused to testify except to say he
hadn’t seen anything. But the other three men had said enough. More than
enough.

Lost in thought, Matt finished the rest of his meal without
tasting it. They could have drugged his whiskey, killed the kid, and laid the
blame on him. He frowned as he tried to recall that night. Vaguely he
remembered talking to Billy Henderson. The kid had been a loud-mouthed
braggart, overly proud of his iron, a flashy blue-steel Navy Colt with inlaid
pearl handles. Matt remembered telling the kid that a fancy gun didn’t make a
gunfighter, and the kid had started boasting about what a crack shot he was.
Already killed a man, he had said smugly, and Matt had thought he looked more
than ready to kill another one…

“What?” He glanced up as he realized Lacey was speaking to
him.

“I said I’m ready to go.”

“Yeah, me too.” Matt dropped a few coins on the table,
flashed a smile at their waitress as he picked up his hat, and followed Lacey
outside.

“What were you thinking about in there?” Lacey asked. “You
looked like you were a million miles away.”

“Nothing,” Matt said.

After leaving Lacey’s mare at the livery barn, they walked
along the dusty street to the hotel. The lobby was large and bare. Faded blue
and gold wallpaper that might once have been pretty covered the walls. A stout
man wearing a red shirt, dirty brown twill trousers, and a black bowler hat
stood behind the reception desk. An old Walker Colt was shoved into the
waistband of his trousers. A large black cigar was clamped between his teeth.

“Help you?” the man asked in a bored tone.

“I’d like a room,” Matt replied. “And a bathtub, if you’ve
got one.”

“There’s a tub in Room 17,” the man said. He took a large
brass key from a peg on the wall behind the desk and tossed it to Matt. “It’ll
cost you an extra two bits for the tub, and another two bits for hot water.
Payable in advance.”

“Fine.” Matt tossed the man fifty cents.

“I’ll have Rosa bring the water up when it’s hot.” The man
jerked a calloused thumb toward the staircase. “Your room’s at the top of the
stairs on the left.”

“Obliged,” Matt said.

Lacey felt her cheeks grow hot as the man behind the desk
leered at her. Of course, the man had no way of knowing that she and Matt were
not married, but
she
knew. She hurried up the stairs after Matt, wishing
they had never come to this place. Everything looked so sleazy, so temporary.

Room 17 was small and square. There was no furniture other
than a sagging double bed and a scarred oak commode. The tub stood in one
corner, hidden by a garishly painted screen. A cobweb fluttered in one corner
of the ceiling.

With a look of disgust, Lacey sat down on the edge of the
bed. The barn back in Salt Creek had been cleaner and smelled better than this
place. Removing her hat, she ran her fingers through her hair. It would be so
good to take a bath and wash her hair. She had never been so dirty in her whole
life. Pulling off her boots and stockings, she stretched her legs and wiggled
her toes. It was wonderful to sit on something other than a horse or the hard
ground for a change.

Looking up, she saw Matt watching her. For a moment she had
forgotten he was in the room, but it suddenly dawned on her that she was
actually in a hotel room alone with a man who was not her husband—and that there
was only one bed. A guilty flush stained her cheeks. No unmarried woman was
ever
alone with a man. Lacey’s mother had drummed that into her head time after
time. That she had been alone with Matt out on the prairie for the last week
did not seem near as shocking as the thought of spending one night with him in
a hotel room. The bed, the four walls that surrounded them, all conspired to
make this setting far more intimate than sharing a campfire.

Matt grinned roguishly at Lacey. It was easy to see what she
was thinking. Her consternation at being alone with him in a sleazy hotel room
was plainly written across her face.

“You’re the one who said she wouldn’t stay anyplace in this
town alone,” Matt reminded her, “but I’ll get another room if it will make you feel
better.”

Lacey shook her head. Better to defy convention and spend
the night with Matt than spend the night alone in a strange hotel room in a
strange town. Moments later, a rather plump Mexican woman entered the room
carrying two buckets of hot water. Two sturdy young boys trailed at her heels,
each bearing a bucket of water.

The woman glanced at Lacey, then at Matt, and smiled a
knowing smile before leaving the room. The boys followed on silent feet.

Lacey gazed longingly at the steaming bathtub, and then
glared at Matt. “Well?”

“Well, what?”

“You don’t intend to stay in here while I bathe, do you?”
Lacey demanded indignantly.

“I thought you didn’t want to be alone,” Matt replied,
stifling a grin.

“You could wait out in the hall,” Lacey suggested hopefully.

“I’ll wait on the bed,” Matt decided. He was sitting down as
he spoke, pulling off his boots and socks, wriggling his toes. “The screen will
protect your maidenly modesty.”

“But—”

“I won’t look, I promise.”

With an exasperated sigh, Lacey stepped behind the screen
and began to undress, listening all the while for the sound of Matt’s footsteps
sneaking up on her. Could she trust him to behave like a gentleman? She almost
laughed out loud. A gentleman, indeed! The man was a convicted felon, a gambler,
and Heaven only knew what else. Reluctant as she was to trust him, the call of
the water was too strong to resist, and she sank down in the tub, closing her
eyes as the deliciously hot water covered her. Never had hot water felt so
wonderful. She soaked a long while, bathed leisurely, and then washed and
rinsed her hair. Belatedly, she realized she had neglected to bring a towel
behind the screen with her.

“Matt?”

“Yeah?”

He sounded drowsy and she wondered if he had been napping.
“I need some towels.”

“Oh.” Was it her imagination, or did he sound suddenly wide
awake?

“Could you please throw me a couple?”

“Sure, Lacey.”

“You won’t look!”

“Not if you don’t want me to,” he answered with regret.

“Thank you, Matt.”

“For what?”

“For being so understanding.”

“Yeah.” Matt tossed two towels over the screen, trying not
to imagine what Lacey looked like in the bathtub. There was a splash as she
stood up, and a sudden heat suffused him as he pictured her standing in the tub
drying off, her skin all smooth and sleek, her hair trailing wetly down her
back.

Suddenly restless, he began to pace the tiny room, his hands
jammed deep into his pockets. How could he spend the night cooped up in this
little room with Lacey and not touch her? He hadn’t had a woman for so long, he
could probably qualify to be a monk.

Minutes later, Lacey stepped out from behind the screen
dressed in her trail clothes, her hair wrapped in a towel. Her skin, washed
clean, glowed a healthy golden tan. Her eyes, brown as Mother Earth, were shy
when they met his.

“The water’s still warm,” she said. It was difficult to
speak when he looked at her like that, his dark eyes dancing with a deep inner
fire that she was reluctant to recognize.

“Thanks.” He stepped past her, careful not to touch her.
Damn that outfit! It clearly defined every sweet curve of her body. The pants
hugged her trim legs and thighs and softly rounded bottom like a second skin,
while the shirt clearly outlined her full breasts. His palms were sweaty when
he sank into the tub, willing himself to think of something else.

He sat in the bathtub until the water was cold, hoping it
would cool his wayward thoughts. Telling himself all the while it was only lust
he felt for her, nothing more. Reminding himself that he was far too old for
her, and that he was an escaped convict as well.

Nothing worked. The simple fact remained that he wanted her
more than he had ever wanted any woman he had known. If only she were older,
wiser in the ways of men. But she wasn’t. She was sweet. So damned sweet. And
so trusting. It was the only thing that saved her.

He sat in the cold water until the visible evidence of his
desire for her was gone. He was in a foul mood when he stepped out of the
bathtub and pulled on his shirt and pants.

“I thought you’d drowned,” Lacey remarked when Matt finally
emerged from behind the screen.

“Sorry to disappoint you,” Matt muttered irritably.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Lacey snapped, piqued by his
tone.

They glared at each other for a long moment, the electricity
between them a palpable presence in the dingy little room. Without quite
realizing what she was doing, Lacey found herself admiring the width of Matt’s
shoulders. He was so masculine, so handsome now that he had shaved off a week’s
growth of whiskers. His jaw was strong and square, his nose straight as a
blade. And his mouth… She flushed and looked away lest he guess what she was
thinking.

Matt sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled on his
boots. “You sure you don’t want to stay here?” he asked, not looking at her.

Lacey glanced around the ugly little room and shook her
head. “I’m sure.”

“Then let’s go find a card game,” Matt said curtly, and
headed out the door. He had to get out of that little room and away from its
very large bed, he thought darkly, away from Lacey before he dragged her into
his arms and did something they’d both be sorry for.