Lois Greiman Page 8

  She stared at him in mute dismay. Silence stood between them.

  “You gonna feed me?” he asked finally, “or just let me starve and use me as a paperweight?”

  Katherine bit her lip. He looked mad enough to eat her alive, bones and all. Her hands were shaking, she realized, and hoped he hadn’t noticed the tremble of the tray she held. “If I untie you—will you promise not to try to leave?”

  He was silent—staring at her, then, “Lady,” he said, “hell will freeze solid and the devil himself move out before I promise you anything.”

  Katherine’s back stiffened and her hands stopped trembling as she lifted her chin in a characteristic gesture of fledgling pride. “Then I suppose I’ll have to take measures to ensure you don’t injure yourself further. Daisy.” She needed to raise her voice only slightly, and in a moment footsteps pattered quickly down the hall and a blond head peeked in the door. “Daisy,” Katherine said again, her mouth pursed, her gaze unbent from Travis’s. “Mr. Ryland is being difficult again.”

  “And the sun still rises in the east,” quipped Daisy. “So what’s new?”

  “It seems he’s too stubborn to make a sensible bargain, so I’ll need help tying him in a seated position.”

  “What’s this?” questioned Margaret as she crammed in beside Daisy. “Our livin’ ghost still breathing fire? Hey, girls,” she called, “we got us some live entertainment. Come on.”

  In a minute there were two women holding each of Travis’s arms while Katherine tried to loosen his bonds. He laid still and silent, staring past half-bare bosoms to glare at her as she worked. But the endeavor was hopeless for he’d pulled the cotton strips into an impenetrable lump.

  “It’s no use.” Dory gave up first. “We’ll have to cut the bandages.”

  “Then what?” Garnet questioned, scrunching her face into a frown.

  “Ropes,” Julia supplied quickly. “I’ll get some ropes from the stable. You wait here.”

  She hurried away. Silence fell. Travis glared.

  “Does he always look so mean?” Margaret asked, staring boldly down at his long, tight-muscled body as it lay taut and ready upon the narrow mattress.

  “Always,” said Daisy. “If ‘e ever smiled, ‘e’d scare the nose right off ‘is face.”

  “I think it’s the beard,” stated Garnet. “Could be he’s smiling the whole time. We just can’t tell.”

  “And it could be if I ate coins, I’d pee dollar bills,” said Dory. “Only I don’t think so.”

  “Well…“Garnet pouted.“I think it could be he’s a real looker under them whiskers. Don’t you, Katherine?”

  Katherine didn’t answer, feeling the blush burn her senses.

  “Don’t call her Katherine,” reminded Margaret.

  “Oh, yes. Princess,” Garnet giggled. “Don’t you agree, Princess?”

  “Oh, come now,” urged Margaret. ‘Tell us the truth, Princess. He’s not half bad to look at. Good nose.”

  “Great eyes,” added Garnet. “Deep. All full of mystery. Me,” she sighed. “I always fall for a man of mystery.”

  “You always fall for anything in britches,” corrected Dory.

  “Or outta them,” countered Margaret.

  Giggles twittered around the half circle of women, but Katherine remained mute, her eyes locked on Travis’s.

  “But I will say he’s got all the right parts,” admitted Dory with a nod.

  “And big ones,” added Margaret. “Shoulders like a buffalo.”

  “It’s his chest. Don’t you think, Princess?” asked Garnet. “It’s his chest that’s most…scrumptious. All that muscle and…” She hunched her shoulders and shifted her own plump chest. “Oooo. I always fall for a man with muscle.”

  “He’s got a scar. Look.” Margaret leaned forward, placing a palm to his ribs. Travis gritted his teeth, his before-mentioned muscles bunching to undulated hardness over his flat belly. “Ummm,” moaned Margaret, raising her brows and watching his lean form, “how’d your man get this scar, Princess?”

  Katherine’s gaze was trapped on Margaret’s small hand. She wanted to pull the woman away and perhaps would have if embarrassment hadn’t rooted her to the spot. She took a deep breath. “He’s not my man.”

  Every woman stared at her, brows raised in question.

  “Then whose?” asked Margaret flatly.

  “I wouldn’t wish ‘im on no one,” said Daisy, shaking her frizzy head, “not on nothin’ ‘uman, any’ow.”

  “Well, I’d take him,” sighed Garnet, then let her gaze skim his hard body and corrected, “at least part of him.”

  Laughter bent the women nearly double, causing Margaret to allow her hand to slip from Travis’s side.

  “And which part’d that be?” asked Dory lasciviously.

  “I’d take whichever part’s available,” Dory said, grinning, and Katherine prayed for unconsciousness.

  “I know what part I’d take,” said Daisy, warming to the conversation.

  “Dinner’s waiting,” reminded Dory. “Let’s get him tied.” She looked down at their prisoner and grinned. “After we shave him.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Let’s.”

  A hubbub of excitement brewed. Voices tittered.

  “Remove one hair from my head,” threatened Travis, his bonds stretched tight as he strained toward the women, “and I’ll see each of you shorn like so many sheep.”

  “Now, now,” crooned Margaret, her pretty face petulant. “You’re always so serious. Relax. Have some fun. There are a few million men who’d give their right arms to be in your spot.”

  “It’s true,” grinned Dory, dropping her chubby body to her knees to place a hand on the incredible width of his tight arm and press her bosom snugly against his side. “We can be lots of fun.”

  “You sure he’s not yours, Princess?” asked Margaret.

  Katherine’s head felt filled with air while her gut was tied in knots comparable to the ones which held Travis straining against the headboard. “I’m thinking I should get him fed.”

  The room was silent before the women burst into uproarious laughter, falling against each other with their ready mirth.

  “Not a ‘yes,’” giggled Garnet.

  “But certainly not a ‘no,’ either,” added Margaret. “Come on girls—let’s get this job done before Princess takes a knife to the lot of us.”

  He didn’t struggle as they cut his bonds, helped him to a sitting position, and tied him to the bed with the ropes Julia had retrieved.

  “His back looks like hell,” stated Margaret, who caught a glimpse of it as she plumped his pillows, letting her fingers linger on his shoulders. “What’d you do to him, Princess?”

  Katherine dropped her eyes to the tray and reconsidered removing Travis from the Red Garter, leg wound or no leg wound. “I dragged him into the woods,” she admitted softly.

  “Oooo.” Margaret snatched her fingers from Travis’s shoulder to clutch them together behind her back with a good deal of showmanship. “She drug a two-hundred-pound man through the underbrush all by her lonesome.” Margaret nodded, brows raised. “Let that be a lesson to all of us until she decides just exactly who he does belong to.”

  The others took a step back, their faces determinedly solemn, and began to leave.

  “Good luck,” called Margaret, gliding to the door after the others. “Oh.” She leaned in at the last minute. “And if you need any help with his bath,” she winked then whispered, “call me.”

  The door closed softly. Laughter floated back to Katherine’s burning ears. She cleared her throat and tried not to look at Travis’s chest, but below his chest was his belly, hard, and feathered with golden hair.

  “Hungry?” she asked weakly. When he didn’t respond, she retrieved the tray in silence, finally turning back when she could delay no longer.

  “Well…” she sighed, finding her nerves were nearing the breaking point. “This one wasn’t my fault.”

  “
Whose then?” he asked, glaring at her from beneath lowered brows.

  “Yours,” she proclaimed flatly. “If you would have simply promised to stay put…”

  “Stay put!” He pulled his new bonds tight. “I don’t care to lie here and become a whoremonger to save my own hide.”

  Katherine was silent, thinking his words through. So he finally believed there were men who would find her attractive enough to—to sleep with.

  Well, good.

  “What makes you think I’m doing it to save your hide?” she asked, seating herself near his left side. But she could not meet his eyes. “Perhaps I simply enjoy it.”

  “And perhaps I’ll paddle your backside raw.”

  She drew her gaze to his with a snap, anger brightening her glare. “And that from a man who doesn’t even believe I could attract another’s attention.”

  Silence fell between them. Gazes held—silver blue on azure, speaking more honestly than voices as heartbeats sped along and breathing accelerated.

  His loins ached and every muscle tensed to break free from the bonds that held him.

  But there was no hope.

  “Feed me, goddamn it!” he swore. “Or get the hell out of my room.”

  Chapter 10

  “Rachel!” Travis screamed the word, fighting through the fog of sleep. “Rachel!”

  Katherine scrambled from her place on the floor. The nightmare has returned, she thought groggily, and stumbled to his bed. “Wake up. It’s all right.”

  “Rachel!” His bonds were stretched tight again, his body just as taut.

  “Ryland.” She grasped his arms, shaking him. “It’s all right.”

  “No!” He came fully awake as the word left his lips. His eyes were wild, and he managed to sit, supporting his hard form on the heels of his hands. “Katherine.” Her name gusted forth on the same breath.

  Katherine stared into his face, reading the panic there, and wondered dismally what memories could terrorize a hard man like Travis Ryland.

  “I’m here.” She spoke softly and touched his face, for he looked so very lost and helpless. “All’s well. You’re safe.”

  There was a scar beside his right eye, and she touched it with her fingertips, tracing the tear-shaped pattern. “Go back to sleep.” She knew she soothed him as if he were a young boy, but sometimes in the night he seemed to be just that—a large, gentle child, with haunted eyes and hushed, frightened voice. Sometimes in the darkness she could forget what she knew of him—that he killed for pay, that he needed no one, especially her.

  “Katherine,” he breathed again. “Where have you been?”

  She smiled gently, smoothing the hair from his forehead and so acting out a simple fantasy she’d harbored. “I’ve been here—the whole while.”

  He scowled, seeming still lost in the fog of his dreams. “I thought…” His words ceased, and he shook his head. “Untie me, Katherine.”

  Their gazes fused. “I can’t let you leave,” she whispered. “I can’t allow you to die. It would be my fault. I couldn’t bear the guilt.”

  Her fingers lingered just above his beard. He tilted his head closer to her hand and closed his eyes, as if capturing something forbidden—holding it for just a moment before lifting his head and stiffening. “Then go yourself. Now.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Please.” His plea was mournful and husky. His arms tightened to hard cords of knotted muscle above the carefully tied bonds. “You could make it back east if you rode at night. It’s not you they want.”

  “What?” She drew her hand abruptly away. “What are you talking about?”

  He stared at her for a moment, then closed his eyes wearily and shook his head. “I don’t know. Who would have stabbed him—and why?”

  “What?”

  “Patterson,” he explained. “Patterson died of natural causes. But they said he was stabbed. Who did it?” He leaned forward, his expression intense. “And why? Where was the rest of the money?”

  “I don’t know.” She’d been so busy trying to stay alive, trying to live until the next day that she’d failed to consider such things.

  “Get out, lady,” he rasped. “Before it’s too late.”

  Her hand reached up of its own accord to rest on the hard, tightly muscled hill of his chest. “I can’t,” she whispered.

  They were mere inches apart, living in a world of dark solitude with not another sound to penetrate the quiet.

  “Why?” The question rumbled forth unbidden, wrenched from his gut.

  Why indeed? Katherine stared at him in silent appeal. He’d said in very precise words that he didn’t want her—had no desire for her presence—and yet she couldn’t leave him. She couldn’t bear to draw away until she knew he was safe. Perhaps it was simply her personality.

  She’d found a stray dog once—a one-eyed mongrel who’d snarled a warning when she’d first seen him. Her father had wanted to shoot it. The neighbors considered it a hazard to the community. But Katherine had named it Prince and left food out for it each night for two years. It had never allowed her to touch it, but had taken the offerings sometime before dawn. “Because I don’t think you’d bite,” she whispered nonsensically.

  Travis’s brows rose slowly, but she had no better answer, and he sighed finally. “Lady…” He closed his eyes. “You’re about—”

  “About one bean short of a full pot,” she finished for him. “I know.” She scowled now. “We have to figure out who stabbed Patterson, don’t we?”

  “We?” He shook his head, his eyes hard. “We ain’t doing nothing but getting you back home.”

  She held his gaze. “Maybe Colorado is my home.”

  “The hell it is! This is no game, lady.”

  “You think I don’t know that?”

  “I think you don’t know Delias.” His voice was very quiet now.

  “Then tell me,” she urged.

  “Word’ll get out that I was hired to kill him.” He nodded, the movement stiff. “He’ll be after me.”

  She remained silent for a moment, watching him. “He’s an outlaw, right? A murderer?”

  “Yeah.” Travis’s jaw hardened for a second. “Yeah, he’s that.”

  “Then maybe we can learn where he’s hiding out and report his whereabouts to the authorities.”

  Travis jerked angrily against his bonds, his expression showing his sudden rage. “Don’t stick your nose in this. Lady, you’ll stay away from Delias. Don’t even think about him!”

  Katherine had jumped at his abrupt movement, and sat now, her heart hammering in her chest.

  “You hear me?” he asked again, his voice softer.

  “Who is this Delias?”

  “He’s death!” Travis said with finality, and lying back down closed his eyes and turned his face to the wall.

  Hours later Travis lay in the quiet of the room, watching Katherine sleep. Why was she here? Why hadn’t she fled? He closed his eyes miserably. Why were those damnable dreams haunting him again? And why did he wake like a snot-nosed boy whimpering in fear? He was a man fully grown. He was nothing if not independent.

  Perhaps she had been misled by his nocturnal ramblings. Perhaps she thought she sensed some softness in him. But there was none. Any gentleness he had possessed as a child had died with Rachel. He was a killer now, and he would kill Delias.

  So she didn’t think he would bite? Well, she was mistaken. He couldn’t deny his attraction to her, but it was an interest she’d be sorry she’d awakened if she failed to stay at arm’s length. Let her save her maternal instincts for another.

  There is no softness in me, he repeated mentally as he watched the faint outline of her pale, heart-shaped face, watched her sigh and shift slightly in her sleep, and felt something near his heart rip painfully. “No softness,” he said aloud, and pushed back that awful, longing ache to hold her.

  Katherine clasped her hands together and prayed for divine intervention. Travis hadn’t spoken to her in days, although
sometimes at night he would awaken, calling another’s name. Who was Rachel, and how had she touched the man’s soul? When the nightmares occurred, Katherine felt she looked directly into the deepest recesses of his hidden spirit. And a soul he most certainly had. Perhaps it was dusty and forgotten, but it was there, lying hidden beneath his splendid layers of muscle and flesh.

  There were times when she touched his skin that it seemed she could feel his soul burn cleanly through to hers. Like the time her palm had lain flat and cool against the bare flesh of his chest, or the time when he’d cradled her in his arms and she’d felt the hardness of his form sear her best intentions to nonsense.

  God help her. The situation was insane. She glanced at the white satin of the newly finished gown. She was most definitely, without question, certifiably insane!

  “I can’t do it,” she whispered as her gaze caught the shocking amount of bosom exposed above her pearl-white bodice. “I can’t.”

  “Yes y’can.” Daisy rose from where she’d been fluffing the ruffled and slitted front of her skirt. “Yes, y’can.” Her hands reached for Katherine’s shoulders, holding them in a tight grip. “We all ‘eard y’. Y’ sing like an angel. Like a princess. So you’re gonna go down there and knock ‘em senseless. Lacy’s gonna pay y’ good money, and you’re gonna take it and go back home.” She shook Katherine slightly, her expression sober. “Y’ ‘ear me?”

  “But what about Ryland?” softly murmured Katherine.

  “You’re gonna forget about him. Y’ ‘ear? I seen ‘is type before, miss. E’s no good. A killer. ‘E eats sweet young things like you for breakfast.”

  “I don’t think so,” Katherine whispered. “And I think I—”

  “No y’ don’t,” rasped Daisy quickly. “Y’ don’t. Don’t even say the words. Yer gonna go back home. Yer gonna have yerself a house.” Her voice softened. “With a picket fence. And yer gonna have babies. A dozen or so. And maybe…” She reached for the thick white veil to slip it gingerly over the waving, flowing mass of Katherine’s ace-black hair. “Maybe ye’ll even name one of ‘em Daisy.”

  Katherine blinked through the white morning-glory pattern of the veil. “Don’t make me go through with it. I’ll faint. Really I will.”