Revealed (26 page)

She stared, unblinking.

When Matthew reached to open the door, she put a hand against it.

‘‘Stop and listen to me, Matthew. I made a mistake coming here by myself. I realize that now. But that man can help get us out of here. He said if I tried to leave here on my own, the owner would stop me. He’ll stop you too. You don’t understand what—’’ ‘

‘I didn’t have a problem walking into this place, and we’ll walk out the same way.’’

Pulse racing, he opened the door and stepped through, immediately spotting the woman who had told him where to find Annabelle. Her expression held warning. He glanced back behind them down the darkened hallway. Empty.

But the door to the back room stood open.

‘‘Matthew! Look ou—’’

The blow to his lower back sent him to his knees. His gun fell to the floor. Before he could reach it, a booted foot kicked it away.

‘‘I think you’re takin’ something that belongs to me, mister. For a few more minutes, anyway. So the way I see it, if you plan on taking her outta here, you owe me.’’

Matthew struggled to his feet, the rush of pain making his head swim. He blinked to clear his vision and saw Annabelle struggling against two men holding her fast. Then he looked up at the bartender towering over him. This was the man she said was helping her? The woman had a strange definition of a hero.

Disoriented, Matthew didn’t move fast enough.

The blow to his jaw sent him staggering back, but it didn’t lay him flat out. Not like it should have if the bear of a man had put his full weight behind it. Through a blur, he saw the bartender coming at him again. For being so huge, the man moved with amazing agility.

He grabbed Matthew’s shirt, hauled him off his feet, and slammed him into the wall. Everything went black for a minute, although Matthew could still hear the faint roar of cheering from the crowd. Johnny had always told him that the most important part of fighting was knowing when to fight and when to walk away. It scalded his pride, especially in front of Annabelle, but there was no way he could win this one. He’d be lucky to walk out in one piece, and he wouldn’t risk her further hurt, not with the pledge he’d made to Pastor Carlson. He felt the giant’s hand come around his throat and expected him to squeeze tight. But he didn’t.

Instead the man brought his face close. ‘‘If you want to walk out of here alive with that woman,’’ he spoke through clenched teeth, ‘‘you’ll do exactly as I say.’’

From across the room, Matthew detected the worry in Annabelle’s eyes. Her attention honed on him, she no longer struggled against the men who held her. The grip around his throat suddenly cinched tighter, and Matthew focused back on the bartender, deciding it might be best to listen.

When the bartender finished and finally let him go, he turned, and Matthew struck him from behind. The man spun and hit him hard in the face. Again, with force unworthy of the muscles banding his thick arms, but Matthew went down anyway. Getting to his feet, he landed a punch below the man’s rib cage and stepped back, clenching and unclenching his right hand to work out the sting. It felt like he’d just tried to put his fist through a brick wall.

He tasted blood and wiped his mouth. ‘‘I don’t owe you a thing. And neither does she.’’

‘‘Is that so?’’ The bartender smiled and scanned the crowd that had grown quiet around them. ‘‘How many people here think he owes me?’’

Cheers went up.

‘‘How many people think
she
owes me?’’

More cheers, laughter.

He looked back at Matthew. ‘‘I guess you’re wrong about that, son. I can understand you bein’ protective of your whore, and that’s fine by me. But you need to pay me for time wasted.’’ The bartender stepped closer. ‘‘I’ll let her go for . . . five dollars. That’ll about cover it.’’

Matthew glared at him . . . then pulled the bills from his pocket and counted them out into the man’s hand.

The bartender smiled. ‘‘Nice doin’ business with you.’’ Then he nodded to the men holding Annabelle. But they didn’t let her go.

He glanced back at Matthew, guarded surprise on his face.

Matthew heard footsteps behind him. The man walking toward him was well dressed, roughly twenty years his senior. With his dark hair slicked back and not a hint of mercy in his features, he reminded Matthew of Antonio Sedillos. Thinking of Sedillos and the price he’d placed on his head back in Texas sent a chill scuttling up Matthew’s spine.

The man stopped a few feet away. In his dark eyes shone a will not to be questioned. ‘‘Do you always have this much problem with your woman? That she would seek company here instead of at home, with you?’’

That drew laughs from some of the men.

Matthew fought the urge to look at the bartender, knowing better. ‘‘No, sir, I don’t. This was her first time. I thought she’d changed.’’ He coerced a smile. ‘‘But once a whore, always a whore, I guess.’’

Murmured agreement trickled through the room.

The man’s eyes narrowed. ‘‘Pardon if this offends,’’ he said, his expression saying just the opposite. ‘‘But I look at you and I don’t see a man who knows how to handle a woman. Especially a woman like this.’’ He nodded to the men holding Annabelle, and they brought her before him.

Her hair flowed free over her shoulders. Her expression was hardened in defiance.

Matthew started to move, but when he saw a flash of warning in her eyes, he stilled.

The man lifted a dark curl from her chest and rubbed it between his fingers. ‘‘Don’t tell me. You bought her from a place like this, thinking that taking her out of here would change who she is.’’ He shook his head and made a
tsk
ing sound. ‘‘Only a fool believes that someone can change a person’s destiny. Let me give you some advice, man to man.’’ He gave Matthew a fatherly look, then ran a finger along Annabelle’s jawline and slowly down her throat, stopping short of where her unbuttoned shirtwaist lay open.

Only the quick rise and fall of her chest hinted at her fear.

Matthew stiffened, itching to retaliate. Knowing he couldn’t.

‘‘Deep down a woman wants to know that her man is strong and has the power to protect her.’’ Absurd sincerity lined the man’s expression. ‘‘Would you agree?’’

‘‘Absolutely,’’ Matthew answered, wanting to deck him.

‘‘Then I would suggest that tonight you teach her a lesson in that kind of protection.’’

Knowing exactly what the man was referring to, he tried to imagine what Annabelle’s life must have been like dealing with men like this. Her head was bowed, arms limp at her sides. Disgust twisted his stomach as he answered. ‘‘I’ll do that. Thank you for the advice.’’

‘‘You’re most welcome.’’ He gave his men another nod, and they immediately granted Annabelle her release.

She came to stand beside Matthew, her head still bowed. Matthew gently took hold of her arm to leave.

‘‘Ah, just one more thing.’’

Hearing false gentility in the man’s voice, Matthew turned. And found himself staring down the barrel of his own gun. Instinctively, he moved in front of Annabelle.

A slow smile spread across the man’s face. ‘‘You forgot something.’’ Switching the gun to his other hand, he held it out, handle first.

Matthew reached for it only to have it pulled back.

‘‘To make sure you understand exactly what kind of lesson I’m talking about, I’d like to demonstrate, if you don’t mind.’’

Matthew took a step forward. ‘‘I do mind.’’ From the corner of his eye, he saw the bartender and noted the almost imperceptible shake of his head. ‘‘This woman belongs to me, and if there’s any lesson she needs to be taught, I’ll be doing the teaching.’’

The man’s features hardened in challenge. ‘‘By all means, then, please.’’

Hating what he had to do, Matthew faced Annabelle again. Her head was still bowed. ‘‘Look at me.’’

She didn’t.

Grabbing her chin, he forced her face up. ‘‘I said look at me.’’ A fleeting light in her eyes told him she knew what he was doing. Still, he could hardly bring himself to follow through.

He struck her once across the face. She stared back, defiant. His chest ached.

He struck her again and prayed she would keep her head down.

Slowly, she lifted her chin as if to say, ‘‘That’s all you’ve got?’’

He struck her again, as hard as he dared, and this time she kept her face lowered.

‘‘I promise,’’ she whispered after a moment. ‘‘I won’t do it again.’’

Matthew sorely wanted to cover the marks on her cheek but instead shoved her toward the door. He waited until she was safely outside before turning back. ‘‘She won’t be back here again.’’

The man handed him his gun. ‘‘And neither, I trust, will you.’’

CHAPTER | TWENTY - TWO

A
NNABELLE MADE IT OUT THE
door and onto the darkened boardwalk, then pressed back against the building. Waiting. Listening.

‘‘She won’t be back here again.’’ Matthew’s deep voice carried to her.

She touched her left cheek, still feeling the sting from his hand. Judging from the tortured look she’d glimpsed in his eyes, his blows had hurt him a great deal more than they had hurt her.

‘‘And neither, I trust, will you.’’

She closed her eyes.
Don’t say anything else, Matthew. Leave. Just
leave
.

Seconds later, he walked out the door, gun in hand, his face like stone. When he turned and saw her, a portion of the hardness melted away. Annabelle sensed the words building up inside of him, ready to spill out, but she shook her head. As though understanding, he threw a last glance behind them and gently took hold of her arm. He led her down the empty street to the corner and pulled her with him into an alley.

Her name left him in a rough whisper. ‘‘I’m sorry . . . what I did back there, what I said . . .’’ He reached up as though to touch the side of her face, then hesitated. ‘‘I didn’t mean it. I—’’

‘‘I know, Matthew. I know.’’

In the dim light of the coal-burning streetlamp, all she could see was his tender regret. ‘‘Are you sure you’re all right?’’ He searched her face.

His earnestness made her smile. She had anticipated an apology, but nothing like this. She gave a quick laugh, attempting to lighten the moment. ‘‘Matthew, that was nothing. I’ve been through a lot worse, believe me.’’ She had meant for the words to ease his conscience. They had the opposite effect.

Sighing, he slowly leaned forward until his forehead rested against hers. His hands moved up her arms and came to rest on her shoulders. His breath was warm on her face. He closed his eyes, but Annabelle didn’t dare close hers. Nor did she move an inch. Their bodies weren’t touching, but they were too close. Nothing about this was inappropriate on his part. He meant nothing by it, she knew. Yet she’d never been so fully aware of another person’s nearness in her entire life.

Unnerved by her reaction, she gently pulled back.

A frown eased across his brow. ‘‘Wait here.’’ He disappeared around the corner and returned a minute later, a handkerchief dripping in his hand. He wrung out the cloth and tilted her chin.

Only then did she remember the blood the bartender had smeared on her face. As he worked to wipe away the stains, a picture flashed in her mind—of his reaction at having found her in the back room.

‘‘About what you saw tonight, I want to explain. When you walked in . . . it wasn’t what it—’’

‘ ‘I know,’’ he whispered.

‘‘But the look on your—’’

He held up a hand. ‘‘I said I know. The bartender explained what you were doing there . . . when he had me by the throat against the wall.’’ A sheepish smile crept over his face. ‘‘He was a very persuasive man.’’

Annabelle couldn’t help but giggle. ‘‘If I hadn’t known he was on our side, I might’ve been a bit more worried about you.’’

Matthew feigned an injured expression, then grew serious again. ‘‘I followed you into town tonight fully expecting to catch you in a compromising situation.’’ He briefly looked away. ‘‘Part of me even
hoped
I would so I could prove once and for all that you hadn’t changed. That the Carlsons, Kathryn . . . everyone had been wrong about you. And that I had been right.’’

It was obvious that this was one apology that, though sincerely offered this time, wasn’t coming easily. Doubt still lingered in the subtle lines of his face, telling her he wasn’t fully convinced about her in the long run. Not yet, anyway.

She nodded in response, not surprised by his honesty—he’d been painfully honest with her before—but completely taken aback by his humility. This was a side of Matthew Taylor she had not seen.

He went back to gently wiping her cheek. ‘‘I end up fighting my way out of there, assuring your safety—’’ he shook his head, a telling tip of his mouth drawing her attention—‘‘and this is the thanks I get.’’

She delicately fingered her jaw. ‘‘A most unconventional way of assuring a woman’s safety too, I might add.’’

His hand stilled, and she immediately regretted having brought it up again. Her face grew warm.

‘‘I’ve never hit a woman before, Annabelle.’’

‘‘I know, Matthew . . . I could tell.’’ She meant it in all seriousness, but when he grinned, she did too. Matthew had held back with her, much like the bartender had done with him. His arms and shoulders, muscled from years of hard work, were capable of dealing a far greater blow.

‘‘I promise,’’ he whispered. ‘‘I won’t do it again.’’ A gleam lit his eyes as he parroted back what she’d said to him moments ago in the saloon.

‘‘I’ll hold you to that.’’

He took a step back, and his gaze dropped to her bodice. It happened so fast. He blinked and averted his eyes. His jaw tensed.

Then, as though against his will, he looked back again.

Annabelle’s face burned. She clutched her shirtwaist and presented her back to him, already fumbling with the buttons. She had a chemise beneath that covered her, but she knew men well enough to know it didn’t take much to distract their thoughts. Her hands shook badly, and the exasperating buttons were so tiny, she couldn’t manage to—

‘‘I’ll just wait over here, until you’re . . . finished.’’

‘‘Yes, thank you. I’ll only be a minute.’’