The Fall of Rome (14 page)

“No, you’re not.”

“I failed Frankie.”

“No, you didn’t. The plan’s in motion. We just took another angle.”

“I don’t know if I can do this.”

“That’s the whiskey talking. You can do it. You’re going to take another angle, too.”

“Sounds like you’ve got it all worked out.”

She sounded close to nodding off. “I’m working on it, sugar.” He wrapped both arms around her, pulled her against his chest. “I should put you to bed.”

She didn’t answer. She’d already fallen off.

He settled in, thinking she felt good snuggled up against him, thinking Brady was possibly more of a snake than he’d given him credit for. Thinking she’d had good cause to compare him to the bastard.

Just when he’d thought he couldn’t sink lower.

Phoenix

“That locket worth dying for?” He made a grab for her neck. Victoria jerked back.

Tori let loose with a blistering set down.

Victoria saw the fires of Hades burning in the outlaw’s eyes. Paralyzed with fear, she did nothing, said nothing.

Tori railed, “Heartless bastard!” and slapped the devil’s face. He struck back, slammed the butt of his gun against her temple.

“Nooooo!” Victoria bolted upright, her throat aching, her ears ringing from the piercing scream. Tori’s scream. No,
her
scream.

She heard footsteps. Dark shadow. Dark man.
Him
. This time she swung... and hit and hit. “Murderer!”

He caught her wrists. She struggled.
Too strong
.

“Tori, wake up. Calm down.”

“Mr. Fedderman?” Her voice sounded scratchy and weak to her ears. Her eyes hurt when he turned up the flame on the bedside lamp. Only it wasn’t the kindly old lawman who sat on the edge of her bed. Another man. A handsome man with intense brown eyes. She tried to focus. Her head pounded. Her clothes ... Frantic, she swiped her hands over her drenched gown. “So much blood.”

“Not blood, honey, sweat. You’re soaked through.” He grasped her hands, stilled her motions. “Sit tight. I’ll fetch you a fresh nightshirt.”

Wait, her mind pleaded as she gripped his fingers. The last vestiges of the nightmare receded, and she realized now that she was looking at London Garrett. She didn’t trust herself to speak. What if she threw up on him again?

“You’re safe here, Tori. Safe with me. Do you believe that?”

She nodded. Not just because her friend had told her so. Because she sensed it. She vaguely remembered swooning after the mortifying boot incident. London had carried her upstairs, laid her on this bed. There’d been a doctor. Exhaustion, he’d said. Influenza, he’d said. “The doctor gave me something to help me rest,” she said aloud. There. She spoke. Actual words. Progress.

London nodded. “You’ve been out for hours. It’s well past midnight.”

“I’m . . . I’m sorry I woke you.”

“You didn’t wake me, honey. I’m a night owl. Nature of our business.”

Our
business. The entertainment business. Her sluggish mind scrambled. According to Tori, London had owned an opera house in San Francisco. He worked with actors and musicians. There was a certain familiarity among their kind. Endearments, she ventured, were common. Still, she blushed. She realized then that she had a death grip on his hands. Strong hands. Kind hands. Hands that didn’t smack back. “I’m sorry I hit you. I thought ... I thought you were . . .”

“The man on the train.” He stroked his thumb over the heel of her hand, a gesture meant to comfort. “Did you catch his name?”

The nightmare had faded to black. She couldn’t think straight anyway given this man’s gentle touch. She shook her head.

“Do you remember what he looked like?”

The devil.

She squeezed back tears. “I don’t want to remember. My fault,” she blurted.

He slipped her grasp to frame her face. “Nothing that happened on that train was your fault, Tori.”

“But . . .” She trailed off, uncertain as to why she’d said such a thing. Just a feeling. An awful feeling that gnawed at her stomach and made her ill. She met London’s gaze, wondering how she’d ever thought him dangerous. All she saw was tenderness and . . .
something
. Something that set her blood afire.

“Jesus, honey, you’re burning up.”

Or maybe it was fever. She confessed to feeling a mite delirious.

He eased away and returned a moment later with a basin of water and a folded cloth. He set the basin on the nightstand, smoothed the cloth over her face--cool, wet, refreshing--and over the back of her neck. “Better?” Choked up by his kindness, she nodded.

“Fresh nightshirt,” he said, rising again.

It took a second for her to realize that he was going though her unmentionables. Or rather Ton’s unmentionables. Somewhat scandalous, like her wardrobe. Mortified, she wanted to demand he stop, but he was already standing over her, a white cotton frock clasped in his hand.

Surely he didn’t think to . . . “I can manage.” She pulled the chemise from his grasp. “Thank you.”

“Polite and modest.” His brow furrowed a little before turning. “I’ll wait in the hallway.”

She didn’t understand why her modesty surprised him. Then she remembered she was Tori Adams--entertainer. She flashed on some of her fast friend’s stories. Tori was not modest.

“I just meant. . . you don’t have to take care of me.” He’d already moved to the threshold. His back was to her, but she heard the smile in his voice. “I’m the oldest of five. Three younger brothers, one sister. I’ve overseen countless theater productions. Actors, dancers, musicians, and variety performers. Not to mention gaming staff. Bartenders, barmaids, dealers. I’m used to taking care of people.”

Even so. “I hate being a burden.” She’d been a burden to her father. He’d said so a hundred times.

“You’re not a burden. Trust me.”

She hurriedly exchanged the damp nightshirt for the fresh one, shivering when the air hit her bare skin. She wanted to trust him. She wanted to tell him the truth about who she really was. But what if he turned her out? What if he contacted her father? She shuddered. She couldn’t, wouldn’t risk it. Tying off the ribbon at the chemise’s collar, she scooted under the covers. “You can turn back now.” He moved into the room, and the heat returned with him. That
something
in his eyes. The something that distracted her from the awful event that plagued yet eluded her. The something that caused her heart to flutter and her mouth to go dry.

“How about I fix you some catnip tea? Heard tell it has soothing effects.”

Tea made her think of this afternoon’s catastrophe. She blushed. “I’m sorry I ruined your boots.”

“Polite to a fault.” He smiled. “So. No tea.”

“No tea.”

“Sleep, then.”

She swallowed.

“You need to sleep, Tori.”

Tori wouldn’t give a fig that she was staying in a man’s home without a chaperone.
Tori
would speak her mind. “Would you sit with me for a spell?”

“Absolutely.”

He pulled over a chair, doused the light.

“Would you hold my hand?” she whispered.

“With pleasure.”

The pleasure was hers. His touch was gentle, yet reassuring. She felt safe and cherished. A first. She fought tears, dared to hope.
“You can do this . . . Tori.”

A goodly amount of time passed in silence. Sleep beckoned, but she staved it off long enough to voice her gratitude. “I’m beholden to you for your kindness, Mr. Garrett.”

“I’m beholden to you for my future happiness, Miss Adams.”

She didn’t know what that meant. But she took the sentiment into her dreams.

Tucson

Kat stirred. She didn’t open her eyes. She wasn’t sure she wanted to face the day. Not without fully remembering the previous night.

The last moments trickled in first. She recalled falling asleep in Rome’s arms, remembered a knock at her door, a brief exchange between Rome and Athens. Sometime later he roused her, put her to bed . . . and left.

Groaning, she palmed her forehead. Her brain hurt. Not from thinking too hard, but from drinking too much. That knowledge alone would’ve sickened her, except . . . she remembered every moment. Every action, every thought, every word.

Rome was right. She didn’t hate herself.

At long last she’d confronted him about that night. Granted, she’d always envisioned herself of sound mind and body, blasting him for having so little faith in her affections.

Cursing him for taking the easy road instead of taking a stand. Instead of fighting. For her. Then again, she hadn’t fought for herself either. She’d taken solace in Brady’s lies. She’d run.

She massaged her temples, wishing she hadn’t fallen back on old vices last night. She regretted pouring her heart out in an inebriated, teary state. But she didn’t hate herself. The relief was too immense. She’d finally vocalized her shame and confusion--
I don’t know how it happened.

And Rome believed her.

She hadn’t expected that. If it weren’t for her pounding head, she’d dance on the ceiling. As it was she could barely open her eyes, let alone kick up her heels. Heavy-lidded, she winced when sunlight pierced her eyeballs, wished so hard for a cup of coffee she smelled it.

“Morning.”

Hand to heart, Kat bolted upright. “Dammit, Rome. Stop sneaking up on me.”

He’d shaved and changed his clothes. He looked handsome and rested. She tucked bed-mussed curls behind her ears, thinking she looked a fright.

So why was he gazing at her like he wanted to crawl into bed for a tumble?

“Quick response. Prickly mood.” He grinned. “Glad you’re feeling better.”

That smile burned off her sluggishness, reignited an ancient ache. Startled, she forced her thoughts north. “My head hurts something fierce.”

“Thought it might.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Brought you something.”

She peered around him, noted a small table and a steaming pot. “Coffee.” She shoved off the coverlet, nabbed her wrapper from the end of her bed, and pulled it on as she scrambled to salvation. “You’re a lifesaver.”

“On my best days.”

He waited until she sat, then poured for them both and pulled up another chair.

She inhaled the rich aroma. “Heaven,” she said, then sipped. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Her skin warmed under his watchful eye. She recognized the glint in his ocean-blue gaze as genuine interest. And guilt. And, God help her, affection. Unsettled, she eyed the open window. “Don’t tell me you scaled the ledge carrying all this.”

“I’m a daredevil, sugar, not a juggler.” He slid her room key across the table. “Took the conventional route.”

“Anyone see you come or go?”

“Probably.”

Silly to be embarrassed. It’s not like she hadn’t cavorted with Rome before. It’s not like she hadn’t already been labeled a fallen woman. But that was before she worried about how her actions would affect someone else. Specifically Frankie. “People will talk.”

“That’s what we want, isn’t it?”

“True.” That
was
the point. To ignite gossip. The faster word spread that Kat Simmons was in Tucson and that she’d taken up with Rome Garrett, the faster Brady would show. She drank more coffee to ward off a chill of dread. No, sir, she wasn’t looking forward to seeing Jed Brady again.

Rome on the other hand . . . The man was a sight for sore eyes and a wounded soul. Last night something had shifted between them. She didn’t fool herself into thinking all was forgiven and forgotten on either side. But there was a definite sense they’d moved beyond. The notion was refreshing, yet unnerving. What now?

Self-conscious, she cleared her throat and broached a point of curiosity. “This is the second morning running I’ve seen you bright eyed and good-natured, Rome Garrett. Now that I think of it, you were bright eyed last night.” She cocked her head. “Haven’t seen you bend an elbow once these past days.”

“Gave up whiskey over a week ago.”

“Why?”

“Made a deal with someone.”

She wondered who, but figured he would’ve offered that up if so inclined. “This a permanent deal?”

“Maybe.”

She wondered at his reasons. She wondered a lot of things this liberating, illuminating morning. “You hung up my gowns,” she said in sudden realization. “Put away my shoes.”

“Guilty.”

She blinked as he freshened her coffee. “Why are you being so thoughtful?”

“Penance.”

She held her breath.

He blew one out. “I’d like to think that kindness comes natural to me, Kat, but as you pointed out last night, I can be a mean bastard.”

“I was--“

“You were being truthful.” He scraped white teeth over his full bottom lip, mindful of his words. “You also said I recollect a lot. Reckon I do. But stone sober, some things look different on reflection.”

Her stomach clenched. “Rome--”

“You offered up some mighty personal information last night. Figure I can do the same.” He reached over and grasped her fingers. “I
need
to do the same.”

In that moment, she felt a connection. Not just physical, but emotional. Now her heart pounded in tandem with her temples.

“I fell in love under that faro table, too, Kat.”

Thu-dump. Thu-dump.

“With the woman I thought you were. The woman I needed you to be. I fell hard, but I was young and insecure. You heard right,” he said when she frowned. “I had two older brothers who’d already made their marks on the world. I desperately needed to leave my brand. Wells Fargo proved the means. Whiskey provided the nerve.”

“You’re saying your courage comes from a bottle? I don’t believe it.”

“Just saying it tapped the son of a bitch in me. The part of me that didn’t flinch when tangling with outlaws. A crutch that became a habit.” He squeezed her hand. “About us. The young and reckless us. You were looking for a protector. Someone to laugh with, live with. I was looking for someone to distract me from the pressures of the job. An independent woman with sass. Someone I didn’t have to worry about.
Permanent
was not in my vocabulary, mostly because I didn’t figure I’d be long for this earth.” He winked. “Not that I’d ever admit that.”