Revealed (25 page)

‘‘Who’re you lookin’ for?’’ The bartender’s muscular arms were spread wide on the counter before her.

Annabelle resisted the urge to back up, knowing any sign of weakness would cost her. This man wasn’t just burly, he was massive. His right hand dwarfed the bottle of whiskey he cradled, his thick fingers overlapping the lower half. She could only imagine what those hands would look like fisted. He wouldn’t appreciate being toyed with, and she had no intention of trying.

‘‘A young girl. She might’ve come through here within the last five or six months, give or take.’’

‘‘A lot of young girls come through here.’’ He reached for a glass, poured a shot, and set it in front of her.

She shook her head. ‘‘You’d remember this one. Long dark hair, olive skin, almond-shaped eyes. Exotic looking.’’

‘‘When you say young . . .’’

‘‘Fifteen. But she looks older.’’

His focus shifted to somewhere behind her, then back. ‘‘You came here alone.’’

Her pulse missed a beat at the look in his eyes. She didn’t need to respond; he hadn’t asked a question. She mentally retraced her steps to the door, knowing full well she would not leave the saloon without this man’s consent. She thought of Matthew back at the camp and wished she had confided in him about where she was going. Not that he would’ve agreed once he’d discovered her purpose. He wouldn’t be caught dead in a place like this.

‘‘Who sent you?’’

He knows something
. She answered quickly. ‘‘I came alone.’’ Hesitating would give the wrong impression. ‘‘The girl’s name is Sadie. She’s just a child. And she’s also my friend,’’ she added, hoping honesty might entice his openness.

His gaze wandered over her face, her neck, her bodice. Annabelle stiffened.

‘‘Meet me in the back room. Five minutes.’’

She shook her head. ‘‘You misun—’’

‘‘I said five minutes.’’ In one fluid motion he drained the shot glass in front of her and thunked it down hard beside her hand. ‘‘That part’s not open for discussion.’’

With a quick jerk of his head, he motioned to the door off to the side behind him, and Annabelle felt a lead weight drop into the pit of her stomach. He made a show of looking down at the bar. She traced his focus to her hand resting on the rail. She was trembling.

‘‘Wait for me inside.’’ A dark gleam lit his eyes. As he reached for the shot glass, his hand brushed across hers, gave it the slightest squeeze. He then turned away, but not before she caught a subtle change in his features. At least she thought she saw something. It happened so fast she couldn’t be certain.

Heart racing, she scanned the crowded room. The din of noise pressed in around her, mingling with the cigar smoke, making it difficult to breathe. Was she reading the man right? If so, she was one step closer to finding Sadie. If not . . .
Oh, God, if not . . .

She glanced back at the bar. From the same bottle, he poured himself another drink. He tossed it back and looked straight at her. She couldn’t do this. Her love for Sadie went deep, but what this man was asking for was impossible now. And once she went through that door, there would be no going back.

Anger suddenly welled up inside her. God had given her so much in these past months, but she’d also done some giving of her own. Making changes in her life, in herself, that would be more to His liking. And this is what He did for her in return? Purposefully, she’d been careful not to ask Him for too much. Because she knew what it was like for someone to take and take and take—and never give anything in return.

Still, she had expected more from God than this. Tears burned her eyes.

Clenching her jaw, she turned to leave. She took two steps, then felt herself being lifted from the floor.

‘‘I said five minutes. But I’m startin’ to think I won’t need that long.’’

Raucous laughter rang out from the crowd.

The room turned upside down as the bartender threw her over his shoulder. The blood rushed to her head. The air left her lungs. He strode toward the door.

Unable to scream, Annabelle did what came naturally from years of living with the goal of survival. She sank her teeth into the tender flesh of his back. His shirt tasted of sweat and smoke. Gagging, she bit down harder.

The bartender let out a low growl and grabbed her hair. Searing pain spread across her scalp. The muscles in her jaw went slack, and her head pounded like it might split open. Her upside-down world spun.

More laughter from the crowd. ‘‘She’s a spunky one!’’ ‘‘Teach that woman a lesson!’’ ‘‘You might need more than five minutes, after all!’’

He carried her through the door and down a dark corridor. Annabelle screamed and dug her nails into his upper arm until his flesh gave. He kicked open a door at the end, and tall as he was, she braced herself for the doorframe to catch her backside on the way through. But he ducked just in time.

He slammed the door behind them. ‘‘You shouldn’t have come here alone, asking questions like that.’’

Hanging over his back, Annabelle frantically reached above and behind her for his face. Found it and went for his eyes.

Swearing loudly, he upended her and set her down hard on her feet. ‘‘You’re a spirited little thing—I’ll say that for you.’’

She dragged in air, trying to right the room’s spin, then lunged for the door.

He easily blocked her and warded off her blows. ‘‘Calm down and listen to me for a minute.’’

She scanned the room for a weapon. A straw mattress lay on the floor in the corner, obviously well used. A desk strewn with paper was pushed against the wall. Above the desk, a board cluttered with charcoal portraits of men’s faces stared back. She bolted for the desk and jerked open a drawer.

The man came from behind, pulled her hand free, and slammed the drawer shut. He pressed her against the desk, trapping her. ‘‘I won’t hurt you. I promise.’’

His breath was warm against her hair. A tremor started deep inside her. She thought of her child and of the damage this man could inflict with a single blow. Annabelle bit the inside of her cheek until she tasted blood. To cry or beg would only make it worse.

After a moment, as though giving her time to calm, he moved away, placing himself again between her and the door.

‘‘You will not touch me.’’ She spoke the words slowly, already knowing it was futile. She was no match for him.

‘‘Listen to me.’’ He stepped toward her.

She moved back and met the wall behind her. The tremor inside her fanned out. Her legs went weak. She shook her head. ‘‘I can’t do this. Not again,’’ she whispered, more to herself than to him.

‘‘I’m not gonna do anything to you, ma’am. But I had to get you out of there. Those questions you asked drew attention. And that’s not something you wanna do around here.’’

‘‘But I thought . . .’’

‘‘I know what you thought. But I give you my word—I won’t lay a hand on you. Harsh or otherwise. You would’ve known I was tryin’ to help you if you’d just taken the drink. It’s sarsaparilla—a special bottle I keep under the counter. Comes in handy at times.’’

She hiccupped a breath, still watching, not quite trusting.

‘‘The owner of this place spotted you. More than that, his man at the bar heard you asking about the girl. She was through here all right, about four months ago, I’d guess. They stayed awhile, then left.’’

‘‘They?’’ she asked, using the wall behind her for support. Relief spread warm through her arms and legs.

‘‘Two men were with her. They worked a deal out with the owner—I don’t know what it was. I only know that business was good for the next few days.’’

Annabelle massaged the top of her head, her scalp still tingling. ‘‘Sorry about that,’’ he said, following her motions. ‘‘But the man who owns this place, and the men he works for, they don’t like bein’ questioned. Not about the business that goes on here, and especially not by some slip of a woman. No offense intended, ma’am.’’

She huffed a laugh. ‘‘None taken.’’

‘‘A man came lookin’ for the girl while she was still around.’’ He shook his head. ‘‘He started asking questions and the men here worked him over somethin’ awful.’’

Gallagher, Betsy’s man in Willow Springs, immediately came to mind. ‘‘Was he tall? Bearded, with a head full of dark hair?’’ At his nod, right or wrong, Annabelle felt satisfaction at knowing Gallagher had experienced some payback. ‘‘Thank you for your help, Mr. . . .’’

‘‘Probably best we don’t swap names, ma’am. I don’t know which way they headed when they left, only that they took the girl and set out in a hurry one mornin’. But if you do decide to keep lookin’ for her, be careful. Those men’ll think nothing of doin’ to you what they did to that fella. Or worse.’’

Knowing she was far from invincible, Annabelle nodded. ‘‘I’ve known men like that all my life. And I’ve already seen their worst.’’ His hard face softened. ‘‘I already reckoned that, ma’am,’’ he said quietly. ‘‘I just figured you got out somehow.’’

Realizing what he was saying, she swallowed. Would there ever come a day when she wouldn’t wear her old life so plainly for all to see? She briefly looked down at her hands, then back at him. ‘‘How did you know?’’

He gave a shrug. ‘‘I’ve been around this for a long time. When you walked through the doors tonight, you didn’t flinch. A . . . normal woman . . . well, she would’ve been shocked. She would’ve turned and left. But you didn’t. In a glance, you worked the room and found your best mark.’’ He grinned. ‘‘Me.’’

Seeing his smile drew one from her. Her experience had nearly cost her in this instance. ‘‘Thank you again, for your help.’’ She started toward the door.

He held up a hand. ‘‘I’m afraid it’s not gonna be that easy.’’

She paused beside him.

‘‘If you walk back into that room without me and try to leave here, you’re gonna be stopped. They already know you’re here about the girl. We’ll walk back in together. I’ll give a nod, tellin’ ’em I’ve taken care of things, and then you’ll be allowed to leave.’’ Reluctant, she agreed.

‘‘One more thing. . . .’’ His eyes swept her up and down. ‘‘If you leave this room like that they’re gonna know this wasn’t what it looked like, and then my boss’ll pull us both in to talk. And I make it a point to talk to that man as little as possible.’’

With sick understanding, Annabelle nodded and looked down at his hands.

Sighing, he gently tipped her chin. ‘‘I’m not gonna hit you, ma’am. Here . . .’’ He wiped some of the blood from the scratches on his arm and streaked it across her cheek and jaw.

She wished she could take back how she’d questioned God’s provision moments ago. ‘‘Thank you,’’ she whispered. ‘‘For doing this.’’

‘‘Does your husband know you’re here?’’

She frowned, then saw him looking at her left hand. ‘‘Oh, no . . . he doesn’t.’’

A commotion sounded in the hallway.

‘‘There’s no lock on the door, so you best hurry.’’ Untucking his shirt with one hand, he pointed at her bodice with the other. ‘‘I’ll get you outta here safe, I promise.’’

Annabelle pulled the pins from her hair and riffled her fingers through it. She hesitated for a split second, but as the footsteps in the hall grew closer, she pulled the hem of her shirtwaist from her skirt and began unbuttoning the top buttons. As she did so, something caught her eye. A name . . . on one of the charcoal pictures hanging above the desk. The face bore only the slightest resemblance to the man.

Her hands froze. She took a step closer and reached out, certain she was misreading it. Then the door crashed open, and she spun around.

Matthew Taylor stood in the doorway.

CHAPTER | TWENTY - ONE

A
T FIRST,
M
ATTHEW COULDN’T REACT.
All he could do was stare.

Annabelle’s shirtwaist was unbuttoned and revealing, her hair disheveled, and a giant of a man stood beside her. Matthew reached inside his jacket for his gun.

Annabelle started toward him, clutching the fabric of her bodice. ‘‘Matthew, you don’t understand. This isn’t what—’’

‘‘Don’t.’’ He shook his head, knots tightening his stomach. ‘‘Don’t try to explain this away.’’ From the blood streaked on her face, he could tell the man had gotten rough with her. It was her own fault, but still, the sick feeling inside him worsened. It didn’t make any sense. It was like a dog returning to its vomit. Why would she come back to this life when she’d been given a way out?

He’d followed her into town, aware of when she’d left and guessing where she was going. Leaving their camp unguarded for so long wasn’t his first choice, but he’d purposefully chosen a spot close to an outlying homestead, and once and for all, he wanted tangible proof about Annabelle Grayson. He’d watched her enter the establishment, had waited, then followed her in, firmly set on catching her in the act this time and hoping he was still one step ahead of the bounty hunter he’d seen in Willow Springs.

But when he’d kicked the door open and had seen her standing there, getting dressed again, he’d felt none of the satisfaction he thought would come at having been proven right.

He leveled the gun at the man, who appeared much more perturbed than frightened. ‘‘I’m leaving here with this woman, and I don’t want you trying to follow us out.’’

‘‘Mister, I don’t know how you got back here, but if I don’t follow you out the front door, you won’t be leavin’ here at all. I give you my word.’’

Matthew took hold of Annabelle’s arm and pulled her through the doorway. ‘‘We’ll just see about that.’’

The man acted like he might follow them until Matthew leveled his aim again. Then he stopped and raised his hands in truce.

‘‘Ma’am,’’ he said, giving Annabelle a pointed look, ‘‘you’d better talk some sense into him, and make it fast.’’

Matthew slammed the door behind them, shutting the other man inside, and pulled Annabelle down the darkened corridor.

She resisted, slowing their pace. ‘‘You don’t know what you’re doing, Matthew. That man was the bartender. I approached him earlier. He was helping—’’ ‘

‘I saw what he was helpin’ himself to, Annabelle. I’m not blind.’’ He continued down the hall, dragging her with him. For once, she had no smart reply. He got to the door and leaned down close to her face. ‘‘Why would you come back to a place like this and . . .
do
what you just did when—’’ His voice broke, which only fed his anger. He tightened his grip on her arm. ‘‘When Johnny bought your way out? My brother loved you, for whatever reason, God help him. He cared about you . . . and this is what you do?’’