Читать книгу The Outlaw's Return - Victoria Bylin - Страница 11

Mary had pulled out of J.T.’s grasp, but the warmth of his touch lingered. Two years ago she’d yearned for what he’d just offered. That dream had shattered the night he’d left, and so had her hopes for marriage and a family of her own. Memories kicked in the place where the baby had nestled for three short months.

She couldn’t let J.T. see the memory in her eyes, so she blinked hurriedly. “The answer is no.”

“Why not?”

Because you hurt me, and I’ll never trust a man again. Because you broke my heart and left me with child. “I’m different now,” she said simply.

“So am I.”

She doubted it. He hadn’t mentioned marriage and he wouldn’t. A man like J.T. wasn’t the marrying kind. She’d known that all along, but she’d foolishly believed she could change his mind. She spoke with deliberate calm. “What we had in Abilene is gone. All of it.”

Even the baby.

Memories assailed her…the blood, the pain. The guilt had been worst of all. She hadn’t wanted the baby until she’d lost it. That morning she’d woken up with cramps. Instead of staying in bed, she’d gone to the theater intending to perform as usual. She’d miscarried just minutes before she was supposed to take the stage, and the gossip had started instantly. Tears pressed into her eyes. If J.T. saw them, he’d know there was more to the incident with Sam O’Day.

Mumbling about the food, she hurried to the kitchen. Before she reached the door, he clasped her arms from behind. In Kansas he would have kissed her neck. She would have turned and gone into his arms. Today she felt trapped.

His voice came over her shoulder. “Come with me, Mary. It’ll be good this time.”

It had been good last time, but not good enough. Giving herself to this man had caused her nothing but grief. She’d lost her heart, her reputation and her career. She’d wept alone over their lost child, and that had hurt most of all.

As he tightened his grip, the smell of his unwashed skin reached her nose. She broke loose and faced him. “Leave me alone!”

He released her, but his eyes held her more tightly than his hands. “I need you, Mary.”

“What you need is a bath!”

“I need more that,” he murmured. “I need you.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Mary, I—”

“Don’t talk to me!” Turning, she clamped her hands over her mouth. The secret burned like fire in her belly. She wanted to punish him for what he’d done, but she couldn’t. Not only did she have to keep the facts to herself, but she knew what it meant to need forgiveness. As much as she wanted to blame J.T. for wooing her into his bed, she’d gone willingly, even eagerly. God had forgiven her—she knew that. She thought she’d forgiven J.T., but the memories left no room for mercy. She couldn’t stand the thought of the scandal coming back to life. She desperately wanted J.T. to leave, but her anger left a sour taste in her mouth. They’d both sinned. If she sent him way in anger, she’d be a hypocrite. She took a breath to calm herself, then faced him. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have shouted at you.”

Relief softened his mouth. “I had it coming.”

He stood still, waiting for her to make the next move. She glanced at Fancy Girl. She’d promised them both a meal, so she indicated his chair. “I’ll get the pot roast. Fancy can have a bone when you leave.”

“Thanks.”

She escaped into the kitchen, dished his food and brought a plate to the table. He smiled his thanks, lifted his spoon and ate. In Abilene they’d lingered over supper with quiet anticipation. Today she used silence like a stage curtain. It hid her memories the way velvet drapes hid the audience, but thoughts of a curtain reminded her of the career she’d lost. Yesterday Roy Desmond, the new manager of the Newcastle Theater, had asked her to star in The Bohemian Girl. Because of the scandal, she had decided to turn him down. If her name showed up on Roy’s fancy theater posters, people might become curious about her past. At the time she’d thought briefly of J.T. and blamed him. She couldn’t possibly sing on stage again, even though she’d been impressed with Roy. An actor himself, he had managed a theater troupe on a Mississippi riverboat. She hadn’t heard of him, but he’d been in Abilene and had heard her sing. He’d mentioned the trial and the gossip, then assured her he’d keep the information to himself. She trusted him.

J.T. finished the pot roast, then broke the silence with a contented sigh. “You sure can cook. I didn’t know that.”

“It’s a family recipe.” She reached idly to straighten the salt shaker.

His gaze dropped to her fingers, no doubt noticing the roughness. Her hands embarrassed her, but she refused to hide them. He arched one brow. “Are you sure I can’t talk you into singing in that saloon in California? It’s a long way from Abilene.”

“I’m positive.”

“Would you think about it?”

“There’s no need.” He’d push until he got what he wanted, and he wanted her. She had to give him another reason to move on. “My mother died a few months ago. I’m raising my sister and brother.”

He didn’t like children, so she figured he’d leave her alone. Instead he seemed interested. “How old are they?”

“Gertie just turned seventeen. Augustus is twelve.”

He wrinkled his brow. “They’re not that young. Gertie’s practically grown. And Augustus—” He shook his head. “That’s a dreadful name for a boy.”

Mary didn’t know what to make of his interest. “We’ve always called him Augustus.”

“So give him a nickname.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know.” His eyes twinkled. “I bet we can think of something.”

We? Mary had to set him straight. “Even if I wanted to go with you—which I do not—I have obligations. I own this restaurant. I have a mortgage to pay and women who work for me. They need the money. Frankly, so do I. I’m saving to send Gertie to New York.”

He scowled, a reminder that he’d been left on those crowded streets to fend for himself. “What’s in New York?”

“Theaters. Gertie loves singing as much as I did.”

“You still love it.”

“Yes, but not the same way.” She stood and lifted their plates. In Kansas she’d used his given name for only the most serious conversations. She used it now to make a point. “You’re two years too late, Jonah. I wish you the best, but I don’t want to see you again.”

Dust motes hung in the light, swirling like ash from a burning bridge in a ray of sun coming through the window. The glare lit one side of his face and put the other in shadow until he pushed back the chair and stood. “I see.”

When he looked at his dog, Mary remembered her promise to Fancy Girl. “I’ll be right back.”

She carried the plates to the kitchen, selected the meatiest soup bone she had, wrapped it in paper and carried it to the dining room. “Here.” She handed it to J.T. “This is for Fancy.”

He took it but hesitated before calling the dog. If the mutt refused to go with him, Mary didn’t know what she’d do. With his brow tight, he spoke in a gentle tone Mary knew well. “Let’s go, Fancy Girl.”

When the dog ambled to his side, Mary breathed a sigh of relief. He took his hat off the peg and opened the door. With sunlight fanning into the room, he pulled the brim low and stepped outside, closing the door behind him. Mary blinked, and he was gone.

J.T. turned the corner, stopped and looked at his dog. “What now, girl?”

Fancy nudged the bone with her nose. J.T. wished his desires were as simple. He wanted a drink. The escape wouldn’t last, but it would stop the ache in his chest. He’d wake up feeling even worse than he did now, but who cared? Without Mary, he had no reason to stay sober. As soon as he bought supplies, he’d leave town. Tonight Fancy could chew the bone in front of a lonely campfire.

“Come on,” he said to her. “We’re getting out of here.”

He went to the livery for his horses, paid the owner and put the bone in a saddlebag. He secured the line to the pack horse, climbed on his buckskin and headed to the boardinghouse to fetch his gear. As the horses plodded down the street, he looked for a place to buy whiskey. He saw one closed door after another, then the gray wall of a large stone building. The granite gleamed white in the sun, and gargoyles jutted from the eaves. As he rounded the corner, he saw a sign that read Newcastle Theater.

“Hey, Quinn!”

He slipped his hand into his duster until it rested on the ivory grip of his Colt Navy, then he scanned the street for the person who’d called him. When he saw Roy Desmond, he wanted to spit. He knew Roy from the faro tables in Dodge City. The man cheated. Even worse, there was talk he’d killed a saloon girl. J.T. had no desire to speak with Roy, but he couldn’t ignore him with Mary in Denver. The man had bragged about his life as an actor, and J.T. worried he’d seek out Mary. She’d sent J.T. away, but he wouldn’t leave until he knew what Desmond wanted.

“Hello, Roy.”

“This is a surprise.” The man flashed a grin. “It’s been what? Three years since Dodge?”

“More or less.” J.T. had known Roy before Abilene, before he’d been with Mary. “What are you up to?”

Roy indicated the stone building behind him. “You’re talking to the manager of the Newcastle Theater. I’m a legitimate businessman now.”

Only a snake like Roy would need to announce he’d become legitimate. J.T. took in the man’s sack suit and pleated shirt. A gold watch dangled from his pocket, and his shoes were newly blacked. His hair was still dark but thinner than J.T. recalled, and deep lines framed his mouth. Nothing about Roy could be trusted, not his appearance and not the words dancing off his tongue. If Roy had any dealings with Mary, J.T. would have to think again about leaving Denver. He needed information, so he feigned interest in the man’s venture.

“Legitimate, huh?” He grinned. “Does that mean no faro?”

Roy chuckled. “I’ve got other cards to play. In fact, you’re just the man to help me play them.”

It was just like Roy to speak in riddles. “What do you have in mind?”

“It involves a mutual friend of ours.”

“Who?”

“Mary Larue.”

Live or die, J.T. would do anything to keep Roy away from Mary. “What about her?”

The man indicated the door. “Come inside and we’ll talk.”

J.T. swung off his horse and tied off the reins. With Fancy Girl at his side, he followed Roy into the opera house. Trying to look bored, he entered the cavernous foyer as if he walked around such places every day. He didn’t, and the opulence stunned him. Thick carpet covered the floor, and the walls were crimson with gold stripes. Brass wall sconces caught the light from the open door and shimmered like flames. Even the air felt like velvet.

J.T. let out a low whistle. “Pretty nice.”

“Nothing but the best.” Roy led the way to a double door and opened it wide. “This is the stage.”

With Fancy next to him, J.T. walked into the heart of the theater. At least fifty rows of upholstered seats fanned out from the stage, and a curtain the size of a barn hung from the ceiling. Five chandeliers formed the points of a star, and two balconies jutted from the wall. The last time J.T. had seen Roy, he’d been a two-bit gambler. How had he ended up among the Denver upper crust? And what did he want from Mary? He signaled Fancy Girl to sit, then surveyed the theater again. “This place is huge.”

“It’s the biggest opera house in town.” Roy put his hands in his pockets. “Things are going well, but I’ve got a bit of a problem.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“I manage this place for a group of investors.” Roy’s jaw twitched. J.T. had played cards with him and knew his mannerisms. The tic signaled a bluff. “Those men are expecting a solid return on what we’ve put into this place.”

“Like sold-out shows?”

“Yes.” His jaw twitched again. “There are two ways to make money in this business. Bawdy shows draw big crowds, but like I said, I’ve gone legitimate. Denver has money now. Big money, if you know what I mean.”

“Yeah, I know.” Denver was full of millionaires who’d made their fortunes from mining and the railroad. These folks wanted classy entertainment, not cheap burlesque.

Roy wiped his brow with a silk handkerchief. “My investors have high expectations, so I’m putting on an opera. That’s where you come in.”

“Me?” J.T. pretended to misunderstand. “I can’t sing a lick.”

Roy chuckled. “No, but Mary Larue can. Rumor has it you two were quite a pair in Abilene.”

How did Roy know about Kansas? Was Mary already involved with him? J.T. fought to sound casual. “Who told you that?”

“I was in Abilene during the O’Day trail.” Roy shook his head. “What a shame. It ruined her career. That woman sings like a nightingale.”

J.T. hadn’t pressed Mary for details about the scandal, but he didn’t mind quizzing Roy. “What happened?”

“You don’t know?”

“I left on business.”

The theater manager propped his hips on the back of a seat. “The whole town was buzzing about the two of you. After you left, O’Day figured she was up for grabs. He followed her out of the theater and tried to—” Roy let his implication stand. “She shot him.”

J.T. knew all that. “What happened after the trial?”

“She left town.” Roy shook his head. “That’s when the gossip got really bad, if you know what I mean.”

“Yeah, I know.”

Roy laughed. “You dodged a bullet, Quinn. Be thankful.”

The remark struck J.T. as odd, but Roy was known for talking in circles. Even so, J.T. wondered…what bullet? Thinking about it, he decided Roy meant marriage. For once J.T. had to agree with him. He felt bad about leaving Mary, but he wasn’t the marrying kind.

Roy’s eyes glinted. “Mary and I have gotten to be friends. I asked her to star in my opera, but she turned me down. I’m hoping you’ll help me change her mind.”

J.T. looked around the theater with its chandeliers and velvet seats. The hall held the stuff of Mary’s dreams, but she’d turned Roy down to keep the Abilene scandal a secret. He felt bad about the reason, but he liked her refusal. He looked Roy in the eye. “Mary said no. It’s her choice. Not mine.”

“I thought you might have some influence. From what I hear, you had her wrapped around your little finger.”

No man wrapped Mary around his finger. She’d been good to him because she’d cared about him, and he’d taken advantage. The memory shamed him. “Mary’s her own woman.”

Roy’s eyes gleamed like black stones. “So you don’t have a claim on her?”

“What are you getting at?”

“If you’re done with her, I’ll take her for myself.”

J.T. gripped Roy by the collar, squeezing until the man’s jugular pressed against his knuckles. “You touch Mary and you’re dead.” Fancy stood silent at his feet, ready to attack if he gave the word.

Roy held up his hands. “Hold on, Quinn! I was thinking about Mary, what I could give her.”

“No, you weren’t.”

“I swear it.” Sweat beaded on Roy’s brow. “I could make her famous. Rich, too. That’s all. Okay?”

J.T. set Roy down, but he didn’t believe a word the man said. Lust showed in his eyes. So did greed. J.T. forgot all about buying whiskey. He forgot about leaving Denver. He had to warn Mary about Roy. The man said he had investors, but J.T. sensed a lie. Had Roy’s so-called investors given him money, or had he cheated them out of it? If he’d cheated them, what kind of payback did they want? J.T. saw a lot of self-proclaimed justice in his line of work. People paid him to administer it. Looking at Roy, he saw the familiar look of a man without shame. He matched the theater manager’s stare. “Stay away from Mary Larue.”

“Sure,” he said too easily. “She’s all yours.”

She wasn’t, but J.T. didn’t mind Roy thinking along those lines. He paced out of the opera house with Fancy Girl at his heels and rode straight to Mary’s café. There he slid out of the saddle and pounded on the door. When she didn’t answer, he peered through the window and saw the table where he’d eaten pot roast. It was already re-laid with silverware and a clean plate. It looked as if he’d never been there, as if she’d erased him from her life. Maybe she had, but no way would he leave her a second time to deal alone with someone like Sam O’Day or Roy Desmond.

J.T. figured she’d left for the Sunday supper she’d mentioned at a place called Swan’s Nest. Mary didn’t want him around her friends, but he had to warn her about Roy. Annoyed, he looked at his reflection in a dark window. Mary was right about that bath. He’d clean up, then he’d track her down. He’d do his best not to embarrass her, but he couldn’t leave until she promised to keep away from Roy Desmond.