Silver Dreams (21 page)

Both men laughed. "She's asking us please, just like a lady,” one of them said. “Too bad you don’t have a lady’s money bag.” He drew back his hand again, but this time Elizabeth was ready. Channeling a fierce rage, she pressed both hands against the man's chest and pushed him back at the same time her knee came up between his legs.

He hollered an oath. The second man, who'd been occupied with pocketing the purse contents, looked up in surprise. While he gawked, she ran for the entrance to the alley, but she'd only made it a few feet when she was grabbed from behind again and thrown to the ground. She cried out as one of the men dropped down beside her. "Why you little hellcat. We might have let you go if you hadn’t done that. Now I’m going to get that necklace you’re wearing."

He raised a leg to straddle her, and reached for her neck. She tried desperately to squirm out from under him.
Not my mother’s pearl cameo
! Raising her head, she caught a glimpse of a third man coming down the alley. Dear God, no, she cried silently, until she saw the unmistakable outline of a narrow brimmed black hat on top of the man's head. A coachman’s hat. It flew off and sailed down the alley as the assailant slapped her again.

Max gripped the man's shoulders and hauled him off Elizabeth. He expelled his breath in a whoosh and tried to fight back, but Max had the element of surprise in his favor.

Scurrying away from the fray, Elizabeth heard the sounds of fist hitting flesh and the groans of her assailant. She could see that Max was ducking expertly and raining blows about the man's head. How had he learned to fight like that? In spite of her predicament, she was filled with a new admiration for Cassidy.

There was no time to appreciate Max's accomplishments, however, because the second man was charging toward the melee to help his friend. She jumped to her feet and ran at him, landing monkey-style on his back. She wrapped her legs around his waist and grasped his forehead with her two hands. With all her might, she jerked back on his head, satisfied when a grunt of pain rewarded her efforts.

But the man didn't fall. He swatted at Elizabeth as if she were a bothersome insect who'd settled between his shoulder blades. He spun around until she loosened her grip, and then he had her. With a howl, he grabbed her waist and flung her against the wall. She landed on her feet but sank to the ground. She tried to stop her descent, but her unwilling body had a mind of its own.

Her eyes filled with stars again, though the sky wasn’t visible. These stars swirled in dizzying spirals, their whirling patterns threatening to block out everything around her. She envisioned a large round object in Max’s hand. She thought she heard a metallic thump, but she couldn't be sure.

Then she didn't see, or hear, or feel anything at all until a hand settled under her chin and raised her face. She heard a voice, familiar and reassuring. "Betsy, can you hear me?"

"Max, is that you?" It was her voice, though sluggish and hoarse. "What are you doing here?"

"Oh, I just changed my mind and thought I'd see you back to the hotel after all. You know I can't take no for an answer."

It was a struggle, but she lifted her leaden eyelids to squint at his face. He looked worried. "Why aren’t you smiling, Max?" she said. “You have a nice smile.”

"How do you feel, Betsy.?"

"Good. I feel good."

He brushed her hair away from her forehead and ran his hand down the side of her face. She leaned into his palm, rubbing her cheek against his skin. "You have a nice hand, too."

He gripped her upper arms and shook her slightly. "Betsy, we've got to get out of here. Those guys are out right now, but I don't know for how long."

"Those guys?" she repeated as events of the last few minutes returned with nightmarish clarity. She saw the men lying in the alley and remembered the struggle. She recalled, too, seeing an object in Max's hand. Pointing to one of the men, she said, "What did you hit them with?"

"A garbage can lid," he answered. "It seemed appropriate."

She wanted to laugh, but the pain in her face turned her smile into a grimace. She stared into Max's face and saw a tickle of blood running down his cheek. "Not again, Max. Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. Can you walk?"

"Of course I can."  She struggled to her knees, but immediately swayed backwards, landing against the wall.

"I see that," he said, starting to pick her up.

"No, no, I can do it," she said. "You don't have to carry me."  She got to her feet despite his protestations.

"Betsy, be careful. Besides what just happened, you've had a little too much to drink, and this thin air in the mountains can fool you."

She put one hand on his chest and the other against her forehead. For some reason her head was feeling off balance, like it didn't fit on her shoulders just right. "Not me," she insisted. "I should know whether I can walk or..."

She had the sensation of strong hands grasping her under her arms, but that was the last she remembered.

Chapter Eleven

Max scooped Betsy into his arms and considered his options. She moaned softly but she was breathing normally, convincing him that she had just fainted. He debated about going to the authorities. He'd been relieved to note that Betsy's attackers were menacing locals and not the big boys he'd seen from the Penn Central train. And while he certainly wanted to see those rotters pay for what they'd done, he didn't think Betsy would want her plight to become public knowledge.

Besides, she still wasn't in any shape to answer questions from an official who would no doubt ask her why she was out so late in the first place and unescorted as well. Knowing Betsy as he did, Max decided she'd be much happier recovering from her ordeal in her own bed rather than having to face the judgmental eye of the law. So Max took the back way to the Teller House.

Not wanting to be seen by hotel guests, he kept to the shadows until he reached the garden behind the building. Here he was, a tattered, blood-smeared man carrying an unconscious, equally disheveled, but obviously upper class lady in his arms. It anyone looked suspect, Max figured it would be him.

When they reached the rear entrance, Betsy raised her head from Max’s shoulder and lifted a torn section of her dress.  “Max?"

He kicked the door shut behind them. “You’re safe, Betsy. I’ll take you up the back stairs to your room.”

“But my dress is ruined.”

She was right. The dress was a goner, torn in several places. Her hair was a riot of unkempt waves around her face, and the lacy thing she'd had holding it all together earlier was hanging by a few strands at her shoulder. Her face was smudged with dirt, but her eyes were round and luminous, and Max couldn’t look away from them. She was near tears. Her lower lip trembled and her chest heaved. All in all, Max thought she'd never been more beautiful.

"Oh, Max," she moaned. "You were right. I should have gone back to the hotel. I wish I'd listened to you."

He grinned. "What's that word you just used? The one beginning with 'r'?"

“It’s true. You were right. I admit it. Now I've gone and ruined a perfectly good dress, and oh, my shoes!”

"Cripes, Betsy, they're just clothes!" he said as they reached the second floor landing.

She wrapped her arm around his neck. "That's true. When I think what could have happened. Max, you saved me! What would I have done if you hadn't come along?"

"You might not have needed me at all. If you'd been aware of the state of your dress, I shudder to think what you'd have done to those poor boys."

Ignoring his sarcasm, she asked, "What's the real reason you came back, Max?  Was it honestly to walk me to the hotel?"

He wanted to tell her the truth - that deep down he didn't trust Ross to see her safely to the Teller House, and he'd been right about that. But she'd already suffered enough tonight. "I remembered that I'd left a pen on the table, and I was going back to get it."

"Lucky for me that you forgot that pen," she said. "The least I can do is buy you a new one."

"And a hat while you're at it."

She reached up and ran her fingers through his hair as if it were the most natural thing in the world for her to do. "I remember seeing it come off in the alley."

She didn't immediately withdraw her hand, but kept her palm on the nape of his neck and those great green eyes of hers on his face. Max swallowed hard. "What’s your room number, Bets?"

She told him and he lowered her to her feet at her door. She wobbled and leaned against him. "Guess I'm still a little unsteady," she admitted.

He transferred his hand to her waist to offer more support, and she willingly accepted his assistance. "Do you have your key?" he asked.

She dug it out of her pocket and gave it to him. They went inside, and he waited for her to light the bedside lamp. When he saw the furnishings, Max whistled appreciatively. "Nice place you've got here."

"Yes, it is. I was about to say that I like everything about Central City, but after tonight, that's not..."  She stopped abruptly and stared at him, her eyes widening with alarm. "I remember now. Max, you're hurt!"  She went to him and put her hands on the sides of his face, turning it toward the light.

"I've had worse," he said. Though he professed masculine bravado, he didn't back away from her gentle perusal of his wounds. She lightly ran the pad of her thumb from the bruise under his eye to the cut at his temple.

"Don't be such a tough guy," she chided and forced him to sit on the bed.

“You should probably tend to your own wounds,” he said. “Your cheek is beginning to swell.”

"I’m fine, and I want to wash that cut for you." She moistened a cloth in the porcelain basin and dabbed at the wound until it was clean. Then she moved to the bureau and began a close examination of the items on top.

Max watched her subtle movements from across the room. Her hair streamed down her back, like a waterfall of polished garnet in the low light. Her dress was torn in back, and the narrow bustle hung below her rump, revealing the white cotton of an undergarment.

"This is terrible," she moaned. "I had to pack so quickly, I neglected to bring just the thing I need."

There was such an assortment of bottles and tins on the bureau that Max couldn't imagine she'd left anything behind, but she was obviously distressed.