Nan Ryan (29 page)

Puzzled, Mollie said, “She’s already going back to bed? Didn’t she just get up?”

Lew’s answer was a shuttered look and a curt reminder that this was Cherry’s house and she could sleep any time she chose. Sullenly he drank his coffee. Mollie fidgeted, longing to ask questions, not daring to do so.

Finally, Lew looked at her. “What? What is it?”

“Nothing. Not a thing, but—”

“Spit it out.”

“Well … it’s just … that woman.” She wrinkled her nose. “You have a lot of nerve bringing me to the home of a common prostitute.”

Lew set his coffee cup down. “There’s not a thing common about Cherry. And she’s the one to whom I owe an apology.”

“I beg your pardon?”

He leaned up to the table. “I’ve brought an uncommon criminal into her home.”

Mollie glared at him. “Well, if she’s offended, it’s only because I’m a woman. I’m sure she’s ‘entertained’ more than one outlaw.”

“Could be. I never asked.”

“Mmm. Too busy enjoying her charms yourself, I imagine.” She thoughtfully scratched her chin with a forefinger. “Tell me, does she still charge or is it free to you now?”

Lew never answered. He rose, circled the table, took hold of Mollie’s arm, and yanked her up out of the chair. “Put on some clothes and brush that damned hair.”

Mollie got dressed. But she didn’t brush her hair. Restless, she ambled around the house, looking at Cherry’s treasures, thinking that the woman had abominable taste. She made the mistake of saying so to Lew. He set her straight in record time, indicating, in less-than-gentle language, that she was not to say another unkind word about Cherry Sellers.

Unrepentant, but keeping her opinions to herself, Mollie chose one of Cherry’s dime novels from a stack and flung herself down on the red velvet settee to read. And to plan her escape. Lew, unusually edgy, moodily watched Mollie, determined to not let her out of his sight.

As the day dragged on, he decided they’d leave come morning. The sooner he got this beautiful bandit to Denver the better.

At shortly after five that afternoon, Cherry, rested and in high spirits, joined them. “I’ve a marvelous idea,” she said, smiling broadly. “We’ll make a night of it!” Ignoring the fierce shaking of Lew’s dark head, she continued enthusiastically, “We’ll get all gussied up and go out on the town! Drink champagne and play roulette and dance. What do you say?” She plopped down on the arm of Lew’s chair and ruffled his hair.

“Honey, you know we can’t do that.” His voice, when he spoke to Cherry, was soft and kind. “I have to go get supplies, and I want you to watch Mollie for me. We’re leaving bright and early tomorrow.”

“Oh, Lewton, don’t be an old meanie,” trilled Cherry. “You know how lonely I get. The only time I ever have any fun is when you come through. Don’t I deserve a good time once in a blue moon?” Pouting, she twined locks of his hair around her fingers.

Lew sighed. “Sure you do, honey, and any other time I’d—”

“Please, Lew, please. I haven’t danced in ages.”

He inclined his head toward Mollie. “You’re forgetting something, darlin’. I can’t let her out of my sight for a second.”

“I know that,” Cherry said. “She’ll go with us, of course.”

He snorted. “Like that?” He looked pointedly at Mollie’s tight buckskins, man’s shirt, scuffed boots, and tangled hair.

Mollie shot him a wilting look.

“Tell you what,” said Cherry, “you go on to town and get your supplies. I’ll fix Mollie up. I’ll find her something to wear and do her hair. And you can wear those evening clothes you left here that time we went to the opening of the Cibola Hotel.”

Lew finally gave in, and Mollie could hardly hide her excitement. A night on the town with the liquor flowing freely was just the edge she needed. The pleasant scenario flashed through her mind: Lew and Cherry, drunk on champagne and passed out in Cherry’s red bedroom while she rode away into the night!

“Come on, Mollie,” Cherry immediately took her to the red bedroom and began bringing out gaudy gowns and holding them up to Mollie’s slender frame. “This is the one!” Cherry finally said, choosing a shimmering silk evening gown of flaming scarlet.

“I don’t think so, Cherry,” Mollie said. “It’s not—”

“It’s perfect. Or will be as soon as I do a bit of alteration. Slip it on while I get the pins. A tuck here and there and you’ll be absolutely stunning.”

“Thanks for letting me wear it,” said Mollie, resolved to be congenial.

“Glad to, honey. Now, you go wash your hair while I alter the dress.” She winked at Mollie.

The two women spent the next couple of hours preparing for a gala evening on the town. Cherry chattered companionably as they worked while Mollie listened, asking an occasional question. The talkative Cherry told more than she was asked. She spoke at length about Lew, the complicated man she so adored. She regaled Mollie with tales of their shared escapades and when, finally, she spoke of the beautiful, aristocratic Spanish fiancée whom Lew had worshiped, Mollie felt a pang of jealousy slam through her.

Sarcastically, she said, “I should think that a highborn young lady would prefer someone with a bit more class and character than a bounty hunter.”

Cherry’s needle stopped flashing. “Mollie, Lew is one of the richest ranchers in the New Mexico Territory. This bounty hunting business didn’t begin until two years ago when his beautiful fiancée died.”

“Died? How did she …? What happened?”

Cherry shrugged. “I’ve never learned the full story. All I know is that Lew became a bitter man after the girl’s death. And he’s been determined to bring in all the … the …”

“Rogers Renegades?”

Nodding, Cherry said, “Sorry, honey. It’s unlike Lew to mistreat a woman, and I told him last night that I thought he should let you go. Why, you’re nothing but a child, and I’m sure you didn’t do anything bad.”

“I robbed banks and trains,” Mollie confessed honestly. “I make no apologies for it. I rode with my papa.”

“Far be it from me to judge.”

“What I can’t understand,” said Mollie thoughtfully, “is how my robbing a few banks has anything to do with Lew. The Renegades never touched a New Mexico bank. If he is a rich New Mexico rancher, why is he so dead set on bringing me in? What did I ever do to him?”

A compassionate woman, Cherry said, “I honestly don’t know, honey. Lew’s a closemouthed man. Plays them close to the vest and reveals little.” She brightened then and said, “If I were you, I’d use some powerful ammunition against old Lewton. See if I couldn’t change his mind.”

“Ammunition? I’m not allowed guns or bullets, so—”

“No!” squealed Cherry. “I mean your beauty. Lew’s never been immune to a beautiful woman. Make him desire you.”

Mollie exhaled. “Lew desire an outlaw?”

“You’re a woman first, dearie.”

Lew was alone in the red sitting room. A drink
in hand, he stood before the cold fireplace. His blue eyes widened, then narrowed when, just as the clock struck nine, Mollie joined him. For a long moment he stared at her in speechless fury.

Her borrowed red dress fit her like a second skin and was cut daringly low. The skirt was tight down to her knees where it flared so she could walk. Her golden hair had been dressed into shimmering curls atop her head. A red velvet bow was pinned above her left ear.

“Jesus Christ!” he said finally, his long fingers tightening on the whiskey glass. “You’re not going out like that, are you?”

“She most certainly is!” Cherry said, sweeping into the room in a cloud of French perfume and a gown of fragile red lace. She stepped up and put her arm around Mollie’s narrow waist. “Doesn’t she look beautiful?”

“She looks like a—” Lew caught himself, shot Cherry an apologetic glance. “She looks naked.” He downed the rest of his drink and stood flexing his fingers around the empty glass.

Cherry came to him, took the glass, and set it aside. “Lewton, you old hypocrite. You’ve seen me wear that very gown and told me how much you liked it.” Ignoring the stormy look in his eyes, she said, “Come on, let’s go have a good time.”

The trio headed for the bright lights of Prescott. Lew wanted to make the evening an enjoyable one for Cherry. So he forced himself to be congenial and charming. He ordered the finest champagne at the Yavapai Hotel dining room and smiled easily when Mollie, always up for a new experience, drank down the bubbly with relish and eagerly nodded yes when he offered to pour her another.

Mollie didn’t realize that she was feeling the effects of the wine. She supposed that her hot face and fast-beating heart were because she would be a free woman in just a few hours. So she continued to drink freely of the sparkling champagne, feeling incredibly carefree and happy. She never noticed that dozens of men were casting heated looks at her.

She promised herself she would do nothing to annoy Lew. She didn’t want him cutting the evening short and insisting they return home before he had gotten good and drunk. She went out of her way to be agreeable. It wasn’t that difficult.

Mollie thought it exciting to roam down Whiskey Row, stopping in at all the rowdy fun places along the way. She was alarmed by the noise, the crowds, the flirtations, and the brawls. But she was enchanted with the gambling, the music, and the dancing. And with the protective solicitousness of the darkly handsome man at her side who, more than once, placed a possessive hand on her arm or shoulder or waist.

She played faro—Lew taught her how. She drank more chilled champagne. She laughed at Lew’s jokes. She flirted with him, just as Cherry flirted, and took turns in his arms on the dance floor. She blinked foggily when—as she was waiting at the table while Lew and Cherry danced—a tall, richly tailored gentleman slipped down into the chair beside her, put a hand on her bare back, leaned close, and said, “Darlin’, you’re the prettiest thing I’ve seen.” His gaze dropped to her cleavage and his hand covetously cupped her bare shoulder. “I’ll give you a fifty-dollar gold piece if you’ll come upstairs and take off that pretty red dress.”

Mollie opened her mouth but never got the chance to answer.

A lean brown hand shot out like a striking serpent, gripped the man’s collar, and jerked him up out of his chair.

Standing face-to-face with the startled man, a fierce-looking Lew said in a voice that was deadly cold, “What did you say to the young lady?”

“Since when are whores considered ladies?” said the man.

Lew slammed a hard fist into the man’s mouth, and the entire saloon seemed to explode. Mollie, standing now, watched wide-eyed as fights broke out and furniture flew and bottles broke and the Plano player struck up a loud rendition of “Little Brown Jug.”

Mollie saw Cherry—squealing at the top of her lungs—leap onto the back of a big, bearlike man who was coming at Lew from behind. Mollie clapped her hands. Carefully pouring herself one more glass of champagne, she stood there amidst the pandemonium and calmly drank it down. Then she picked up the empty bottle just as a big, bald miner picked her up. She brought the bottle crashing down on his smooth pate. As he was going down she felt another man’s arms come around her waist and snatch her away from the miner.

She screamed, raised the bottle, and heard that unmistakable voice say, “It’s Lew, Mollie. You’re safe.” She went limp against him and he swung her easily up into his arms. Shouting, “Cherry, let’s get out of here,” he strode toward the door with Cherry right behind him.

Mollie was never quite sure how the three of them managed to get through the brawling crowd and out the swinging doors, but they did. And they laughed all the way home, reliving the good time they’d had. Mollie, intoxicated for the first time in her life, forgot completely about her plan to escape. She forgot something else as well—how much she hated Lew.

Skipping along the street beside him, Mollie clung to his arm and admired his classic profile etched against the night sky. She felt exquisite little shivers of delight from being so close to such a handsome, compelling man.

Lew felt good too. Better than he had felt in months. The strenuous exercise of the fistfight had been exactly what he had needed. Building frustrations and mounting tensions had been greatly eased by the physical release afforded by the brawl. He felt wonderfully liberated for the first time in weeks. His coiled muscles had relaxed. His mind was unburdened. His soul cleansed.

When the laughing trio reached Cherry’s house, Mollie’s head was still spinning. She stumbled on the front steps. For the second time that night Lew swiftly swept her up into his arms. Mollie giggled as he walked through the front door carrying her high against his chest.

In a chivalrous mood, Lew said to Cherry, “I’ll put her to bed.”

“No,” Mollie protested, laughing and kicking her feet. “I’m not the least bit sleepy. Is there more champagne?”

“You’ve had enough,” Lew said and carried her directly to the guest room.

He lowered her to the edge of the bed and Mollie, still laughing, promptly tumbled over backward. Leaving the lamp unlighted, Lew drew her up and sat down beside her. With deft, sure fingers he unhooked the tight scarlet dress and peeled the sleeves down her limp arms. When the red dress lay around her waist, Lew rose to his feet, bringing Mollie up with him.