Читать книгу The Gunslinger and the Heiress - Kathryn Albright - Страница 12

Chapter Four

Caleb stared at the fancy stationery as if it was a stray cat with a piece of dynamite strapped to its back. The envelope, all gussied up with a black satin ribbon, had arrived from the Horton just after supper. He’d been eyeing it for the better part of two hours. He should set fire to the thing, but another part of him wanted to march across the street and tear up the note in front of Her Highness, dropping the pieces at her royal feet. It wouldn’t appease what happened between them, or Dorian’s slight of Rachel and Stuart, but it would sure make him feel a sight better.

Instead of taking either trail, he slid his pocketknife along the paper, breaking the ties, and opened the envelope.

Mr. Caleb Houston,

I find I am in need of your assistance. Please meet me at the Horton Hotel at your earliest convenience. The sooner the better.

Your friend,

Hannah Lansing

Well. That was a sight more cordial than the previous note. So she needed his help—not that he planned to give it.

His sister’s request nagged him. He didn’t want to “look out for Hannah.” He didn’t want to get that close. It would muddy things, and right now he was doing just fine with the line he’d drawn between them. But Rachel asked so little of him now that he was grown.

Maybe a quick check wouldn’t hurt—just to appease his conscience. He’d only make sure she was safe and sound, send the information to Rachel and then go about his business.

He had to admit, he was kind of curious as to what Hannah looked like now. How had the years changed her since she was sixteen? She’d been pretty back then—just starting to fill out. He couldn’t imagine her any more so. Too bad her beauty was only skin deep.

He slipped off the bar stool.

“Where you agoin’?” Jim asked, straightening.

“Got a score to settle, and for the first time I’m holdin’ a full house.” He stuffed his arms into his leather jacket and straightened his collar. “Won’t take long. I’ll be back for some of Yin’s stew before Clyde plays another round on the piano.”

He strode to the road, his gaze locked on the front door of the Horton. Two doors down a dog snarled from the shadows and then barked incessantly at a passing rider. Caleb shut out the sound, intent on getting his first look at the woman who had been the hull stuck between his molars for the past five years.

He entered the hotel, absently noting the rich interior, and then without a pause in his steps, zeroed in on the front desk.

The man behind the counter took one look at Caleb as he approached and raised his nose in the air—an interesting position since the clerk was the shorter of the two.

“I’m lookin’ for Han—Miss Hannah Lansing,” Caleb said. Guess they weren’t on a first-name basis anymore. Not after the way things had set between them. The clerk muttered something about waiting while he notified her.

Caleb sauntered over to the fireplace. A woman like her would take her time coming to see him, no matter that the meeting had been at her request. She’d make some kind of a grand entrance.

The heat from the cracklin’ logs took the chill from the damp night air. He rubbed his hands together, blew on them a time or two and then turned around to give the same consideration to his backside. A flash of light glanced off his eye—light reflected off a woman’s dangling gold earrings.

She spoke with the desk clerk. There hadn’t been enough time to fetch Hannah, so it couldn’t be her. This woman wore a quality deep red traveling suit that hugged her waist. A fancy matching hat, swathed with black netting and three large black feathers, hid her features, although anyone with eyes could tell she’d be a looker just by the confident way she held herself. She tapped the toe of her polished boot, obviously not pleased with what she was hearing. Rich people always thought the world spun around them.

She turned from the counter, twisting her handkerchief in front of her waist. He stopped short in the middle of blowing on his cold hands. Memories flooded him of a little girl crying over her puppy, practically strangling her pinafore. It couldn’t be...

The woman looked straight into his eyes. Beneath the black netting, her dove-gray eyes widened against pale, creamy skin. Her jaw slowly opened before she seemed to remember herself and closed her mouth. She tucked a wayward strand of blond hair over her ear and then checked the fancy twist at her neck, a move that unconsciously showed off her figure in that formfitting jacket and full skirt.

Caleb might as well have been sucker punched, the way his gut twisted into a knot. It wasn’t enough that she was rich and confident—she also had the looks to match. Like fine wine in elegant crystal, she outsparkled the chandelier. His mouth went dry. He counted it significant that he remembered to remove his hat.

It didn’t change one thing, though. He still planned to speak his piece.

And in that moment her face became a mask of perfect, controlled alabaster. Slowly, she walked across the room and stopped before him. “Mr. Houston. How good of you to come. I...I feared you might not have received my message.”

He froze—and couldn’t draw another breath. Hannah Lansing...speaking?

He’d never believed it was possible after so many years of silence. And yet here he was, hearing her voice with his own ears! The rich, cultured cadence held him mesmerized. He’d never given it much thought—her speaking like everyone else. Didn’t actually believe it would ever happen. She’d been young and not much more than a baby when she’d lost the ability to speak. How had she gotten it back? And when?

It took him a moment to come back to his senses and realize that although her words were polite enough, her tone was formal—distancing—like being doused with a bucketful of cold water. He sobered instantly. She might be talking, but she hadn’t thought enough of him to inform him. That only pounded the nail of truth deeper about their lack of any real friendship.

Now, what had she said? Something about her note?

“It came,” he said. “They both did. Just took a while to decide if I’d answer.”

That seemed to shake her up. She looked down, away from his face, and swallowed hard. “I see. Then, I thank you for deciding to come.”

“Didn’t figure we had much to say to each other after so long.”

She blinked. “I suppose I deserve that. Touché, Mr. Houston.”

He was baiting her, punishing her for the way she’d left things between them. He’d thought he was over it, that he’d buried the bitterness a long time ago, but seeing her now—well, guess it wasn’t buried deep enough after all.

She looked him over, starting at his boots. He could sense her cataloging everything as her gaze touched on him. Boots—leather, dusty. Denim jeans—worn, serviceable. His hat in his hands—a tan, weather-beaten Stetson. Cotton shirt. Leather vest. Neckerchief tucked at his collar. She stopped when she reached his face. He didn’t look his best, but he wasn’t plannin’ on changing up just because she’d ridden into town.

“Your sister will be gratified to know you are looking well.”

“I get by all right.”

She twisted the handkerchief again, obviously uncomfortable with the awkward gaps in their conversation. Guess his attitude didn’t exactly inspire small talk. He had one foot trampling on everything she was sayin’ and one foot already headin’ for the door. It wasn’t like him to be so cantankerous, but she just seemed to bring out the worst in him.

“So you’ve taken your grandfather’s name,” he said, trying halfheartedly to remedy his mood. “Where is Dorian?”

“He didn’t accompany me.”

That brought him up short. “You’re traveling alone?”

“Of course not. My valet and maid have accompanied me. However, there have been some complications. It has put my business here behind schedule.”

So he hadn’t been a thought in her head until she’d run into trouble with her schedule. Guess that told him where he stood. He chewed on that notion and grew angrier with the chewing.

“Believe me,” she continued, “this is as uncomfortable for me as it is for you.”

“Somehow I doubt that.”

Her mouth pressed together in a perfect seam.

“I take it you are representing Lansing Enterprises now. Congratulations. Although I gotta admit I’m surprised Dorian eased up on the reins enough to give you a position.”

“Yes...well...he did.”

He had to know but hated to ask the question, hated to let her know that he’d wondered about her at all. “So when did you get your voice back?”

“It’s been a while.”

“When?”

“Four years ago.”

So—she’d had plenty of time to send him a letter and hadn’t. Well, what did he expect? She’d made it clear enough they weren’t friends any longer.

“I’d like you here tomorrow at nine to accompany me.”

He raised his brows. He didn’t care to be ordered about. “Now, hold on, Hannah—Miss Lansing.” The formal name didn’t roll off his tongue any easier this time, but he’d remember to use it if it killed him. No way would he forget the way she’d treated him. Calling her by her proper name would just cement the fact. “I haven’t said I’d do anything.”

“But you’re here. I thought that meant...”

“Go on. Spit it out. What’s this all about?”

The desk man approached. “Is everything all right, miss?”

She nodded. “I’m fine, Mr. Bennett.” She waited for the man to leave and then pressed her hand against her temple. On closer examination, purple smudges tinted the skin beneath her eyes. He hadn’t noticed those right off.

“Can you stay for supper?” Her eyes—surrounded with those long lashes—looked up at him all expectant and hopeful. Five years ago that look had gotten him into hot water and changed the course of his life. He didn’t relish a repeat performance.

“Caleb?” she asked again.

“I’ve got a job to get back to. I’ve been gone too long as it is.”

“I hoped at the least we could have a cup of tea. And...and talk.”

“Tea? That’s what this is about?”

“No. Of course not.”

She said it too quickly, worryin’ that handkerchief again. At this point, he was surprised it hadn’t been torn to shreds. “I’m not believing any of this. One minute you say you didn’t plan to see me at all, and then the next you want to have tea. You’re not making any sense. Level with me, woman. What exactly is going on?”

Her eyes widened at his sharp tone, and her chin raised a notch. “All right, then. I’ll be blunt, as that is what you prefer. The Hotel Del Coronado opening ceremony is tomorrow. I am in need of an escort.”

She had to have a fever. “Me? If you remember at all, I’m not much for crowds. It sounds like a pretty fancy shindig for the likes of me. Shouldn’t you be attending with the mayor or one of his lackeys? Someone closer to...”

Her brow furrowed delicately. “To what, Mr. Houston?”

“Look—” He turned to block their conversation further from the interested desk man. “Pardon me for being confused, but the last time I saw you, you and Dorian made things very clear. I don’t owe you a thing.”

Frustration flashed through her eyes. “You are not being fair. I had no—” She took a deep breath. “You don’t understand anything.”

“Then, explain it to me.”

The way her brow wrinkled up, she looked as if she was in pain. It surprised him. Lansings were tough as old cowhide, in his estimation. But then, she could be quite the actress. He had believed what he’d felt in that kiss so many years ago. He wasn’t plannin’ on playing the fool a second time.

“I’ll pay.”

“Now, that sounds like something your grandfather would do. Why me? Why don’t you save some money and have your valet go with you? He’s already in your service.” He shoved on his Stetson. He’d heard enough. Too bad the only remembrance he’d have of her voice was this conversation. It left the taste of sour pickle juice in his mouth.

“Double.”

He paused.

“I’ll pay you double what you make at the saloon.”

A hint of desperation had crept into her voice. The money would come in handy, but it was something else that tugged at him, a feeling that there was more going on that she wasn’t saying.

“Mr. Houston...I really want you to be the one escorting me.”

Maybe he could make himself stand being near her in short doses—for the money—and because it would salve his conscience concerning his sister. “How long?”

“Two days. All I need is two days of your time.”

His gut told him to stampede for the door. He should listen to it.

“Please? I really need your help.”

There it was—she’d finally come around to asking him. Now was his chance to squash her the way she’d squashed him. So why wasn’t he throwing it back at her like he’d planned? “What time did you say this ribbon-cutting happens?”

Something glimmered, lighting her eyes. Hope? “The ceremony starts at eleven.”

“Guess I could see my way to doing it for the money. Long as we are clear on that.” At least that was what he was telling himself. “I’ll be by at ten.”

“That will make us late.”

“Half past nine, then.”

She stretched out her hand. “Agreed.”

He hesitated. It was how business deals were made, although usually it was man-to-man. Touching her seemed a might more personal than he wanted at the moment. He kept his hand stuffed in his pocket. “Agreed. Two days.”

Slowly she pulled her hand back. “Yes. Thank you, Mr. Houston.” She turned toward the stairs.

He could handle this. Two days would pass quick enough. Long as he kept the upper hand, it would be easy money. He could tell her off later. Feelin’ a bit ornery, he decided to let her know who was in charge. “Miss Lansing?” Her proper name rolled off his tongue easy enough.

She stopped. “Yes?”

“I’m not much for waiting.”

A slight hesitation was the only indication he’d unnerved her before she replied, “Neither am I, Mr. Houston. I’ll see you in the morning.”

She spun her trim backside on him and walked to the stairs. He watched the swaying movement of her burgundy skirt as she mounted each stair until she stepped out of sight on the landing. A queer feeling rolled in his gut that had nothing to do with the absence of food there.

Turning toward the door, his gaze collided with the desk man’s. The man watched until Caleb stepped through the ornate entryway to the street and let out a long—long—breath.

Heaven help him. Hannah was all grown up.