Katy and Rowe arrived in Virginia City in the middle of the afternoon. For the most part, it had been a silent ride on a well-packed road. Riding a gentle mare borrowed from the Sparkses’ ranch, Katy rode beside Rowe, with Anton a short way behind.

  When Katy had awakened that morning to discover that Rowe had removed her skirt and had unbuttoned her shirt, she had been so angry that for a while, a short while, she had thought of taking the mare and heading back over the mountains to Trinity, or riding on into Virginia City without him. But after careful consideration, she decided if she did the former, she would be defeating her purpose for coming; and if she did the latter, she would appear to be a fool in Emily Sparks’s eyes. Before she left the bedroom, Katy decided for the time being to ignore the dastardly act and seek vengeance later.

  Rowe and the burial party had returned to the ranch shortly before the noon meal. After that they had taken their leave, promising to stop on their way back to Trinity.

  Virginia City, the capital of Wyoming Territory, was much more of a town than Katy had expected. The town had been founded more than ten years before, when gold was discovered in Alder Gulch. It was here that the vigilantes had exterminated the notorious Plummer outlaw gang.

  A continuous row of buildings lined each side of the main street, which was clogged with horsemen and conveyances of every description. High-wheeled freight wagons pulled by six-mule hitches passed surreys with shiny black canopy tops and brass lamps attached to the sides. There was even a volante, a two-passenger carriage with two wheels and an open, hooded body. The body was set in front of the wheels and attached to the long shafts. The carriage was pulled by one horse that was ridden by a coachman. Katy hadn’t seen a volante since she had left Alabama.

  Women and children in calico dresses and bonnets waited on the seats of heavy wagons and watched ladies with painted faces walking by in silks and satins and wearing hats decorated with ostrich plumes perched atop high-piled, carefully arranged hair.

  The Overland Stage came careening into town, the driver shouting obscenities to the tired team, urging them into a run suitable for a noticeable entrance. The distraction kept Katy from thinking about how shabby she looked in her wrinkled clothes, her hair hanging down her back in a long, unkempt braid, the sweat trickling down her dust-covered face.

  The main street of town was decorated for the Fourth of July celebration. Banners and trailing streamers hung from upstairs windows and porch railings. Placards telling of the events of the day were nailed to the walls of the shops.

  At a side street they paused to allow a funeral procession to pass. The enclosed, glass-windowed hearse was pulled by a black team whose harnesses were wrapped in black; black plumes attached to their bridles bobbed between their ears. The driver in a black serge suit and high-topped hat even wore black gloves. Following the hearse to the burial grounds were a half-dozen buggies filled with fashionably dressed ladies.

  “Must of been somebody important,” Anton said and moved up beside Rowe and Katy.

  “Yer gawddammed right ’twas somebody important.” The whiskered man who spoke sat on his horse a few feet away, his hat in his hand out of respect for the dead. “’Twas Jodee Miller, is who it was. Take yore hat off, mister.”

  “Sorry.” Anton removed his hat and glanced at Rowe. His leather hat was tucked in his belt.

  “Feller what did ’er in was gunned down on the spot. Jodee was a good whore, give a man his money’s worth and deserves a good send-off.”

  “Rowe! Rowe!” A black-haired woman leaned from the last buggy in the procession and waved a black handkerchief.

  ‘Rowe, darlin’. Yoo-hoo! It’s me, Nan. I missed ya like hell, ya handsome devil! Come see me tonight at the Opera House.”

  Rowe waved, then turned to see Katy regarding him with disgust. He lifted his shoulders and grinned sheepishly.

  “Nan Neal. She sings and dances at the Opera House.”

  “The same Nan Neal who had the tonsorial parlor in Laramie? How did she get way up here?”

  “Who knows? Maybe she came because I’m here.”

  “Just your type.”

  “Jealous because she likes me?” he teased.

  “Bullfoot!” Katy gigged her horse and moved ahead. “She likes anything with britches on.”

  They moved on down the street, turned a corner, and stopped at the livery. A boy sat on a stump in front of a folded back door. He jumped to his feet when Rowe slid from the saddle.

  “Ya want me ta give ’em a rub, mister?”

  “Sure. And some extra grain.”

  “Gonna be here long?”

  “Several days. Tell your pa to put the bill on a tab for Garrick Rowe. I’ll be at the Crescent Hotel. Can you remember that?”

  “Sure, Mr. Rowe.”

  Katy stepped from the saddle before Rowe could reach her to help her down. She untied her valise from the back of the saddle and stood waiting. Anton turned his horse over to the boy, shouldered his pack, and took off down the street after speaking a few words to Rowe and tipping his hat to Katy.

  After taking the valise from Katy’s hand, Rowe took her arm and they walked back to the main street of town without speaking. When they started down the boardwalk, he held her close to his side and steered her around the men loitering in front of the Pony Saloon, down the steps to cross another street, and up onto another boardwalk that fronted a series of shops. Katy noticed the women on the walk had eyes only for Rowe and that they scarcely glanced at her at all.

  When they passed the office of the Post, Montana’s first newspaper, Katy saw their reflection in the glass of the window. Rowe was an attractive man, but she looked as if she had come from a soddy somewhere out on the prairie. Katy lifted her chin a little higher. She had been educated in all the social graces and was confident that she could dress and hold her own in any level of society. But she wasn’t here to charm anyone. She would learn to run the stage office, and one day in the near future, she and Mary and Theresa would be on a stage heading for the railroad that would take them home.

  CHAPTER

  Fourteen

  Katy had time for no more than a glance at the lobby of the Crescent Hotel, where deep leather chairs sat on polished floors and a crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling. Rowe steered her to the desk where he was greeted with a welcoming smile and a handshake by a potbellied man in a white vest with a gold watch chain stretched across the front of it.

  “Mr. Rowe! It’s a pleasure to have you back again.”

  “Thank you. I need a room for the lady.”

  The smile left the man’s face. “I’m sorry, Mr. Rowe. We’re full up. There’s not a room left. People have flocked in for the celebration.”

  “Did you let out my room?” Rowe asked sharply.

  “No! Of course not! You’re paid up for six months. It’s just as you left it.”

  “Then the lady can have my room. I’ll find something else.” Rowe picked up Katy’s valise and urged her toward the stairway.

  “I’m sorry about not having a room for your . . . for your . . . ah . . . lady.”

  Katy spun around, her eyes as cold as a frozen pond. “Miss Burns. Miss Katherine Burns. And I’m not his lady.”

  “Oh, I didn’t mean—” His eyes darted to Rowe to see if he had also taken offense. Rowe lifted his brows and shrugged.

  “You’re sure you don’t have a spare bed somewhere?”

  “Not even a bedroll, sir. I had to hire a new man and he has things in a terrible mess. A man came in yesterday, and because his name was Rowe, the desk clerk gave him the key to your room, assuming it was you. I had the unpleasant task of having to tell the man and his wife to leave. Needless to say, he was very angry.”

  With one foot on the stairs, Rowe turned abruptly. “The man’s name was Rowe? Where was he from?”

  “Back East. He said he had come out to hunt buffalo. Funny, though! Men from the East don’t usually bring their wives when they come to hunt. Ah . . . you know what I mean,” he stammered. “I put your mail in your room myself, Mr. Rowe.”

  “Thank you. Send up a bath for Miss Burns.”

  “The bath at the end of the hall—”

  “Send up a bath, Wilson.” The tone of Rowe’s voice left no room for argument.

  “Yes, sir.”

  When they reached the second floor, they walked down a long, narrow hallway to the corner room. Rowe produced a key and unlocked the door. The room was dim, hot, and airless. He pushed back heavy draperies and opened the windows. Katy stood just inside the door and surveyed the room. The four-poster bed had a deep mattress. A mirror framed in oak hung over a bureau of polished wood. The other furnishings were a commode, a washstand with real linen towels hanging from the towel bar, and an armoire standing against the inside wall. She took the two steps necessary to reach the armoire and opened one of the doors. Clothes, men’s clothes, hung neatly from wire hangers. Now she understood why Rowe had brought such a small pack from Trinity. Everything he needed was here.

  “Where will you go?”

  “Are you worried I’ll have to sleep in the livery with the horses?”

  “Why do you always answer my questions with a question? It’s irritating.”

  The grin appeared and spread charmingly on his face, rearranging his dark features until he was breathtakingly handsome in a roguish way.

  “I’d far rather irritate you than make no impression on you at all.” He picked up several letters lying on the bureau, thumbed through them, then opened a drawer and shoved them inside. “I’ll go down to the barbershop and take a bath while you’re taking one here. Then I’ll come back and change clothes. You can stand in the corner with your face to the wall.” His eyes laughed at the frosty look that swept over her face.

  A sharp rap on the door caused Katy to bite back a retort. Rowe opened it to admit a large, dark-skinned colored woman in a starched white apron. She came in carrying a highbacked tin bathing tub.

  “Howdy, Mistah Rowe.”

  “Howdy, Beulah. How’s things with you?”

  “Things is fine. This yore lady?”

  “I’m a business associate,” Katy said before Rowe could answer.

  “Buzzness? Hummm—” The woman’s large expressive eyes went first to Rowe, then back to Katy. She smiled broadly. “Buzzness. Well, Lordy me.”

  “Yeah, Beulah. Business, pure and simple.”

  “Well—I never knowed ’bout no pure buzzness, Mr. Rowe. Matter a fact, ain’t never knowed no simple buzzness either.” The chuckle was deep and rich.

  “Beulah sings like an angel, Katy. Maybe she’ll sing for us sometime.”

  “Get on with yo, Mistah Rowe,” Beulah snorted, but she was beaming with pleasure. “Singin’ don’t put no grub on the table; makin’ beds and emptyin’ slop jars does. Get yore lazy selfs on in here,” she said to the two lanky youths who appeared at the door with a bucket of steaming water in each hand. “Don’t yawl spill a drop on the floor or I’ll nail yore hides to the barn door.” Beulah placed a stack of fluffy towels on the chair, watched the boys carefully pour the water in the tub, then went to the door.

  “Yawl need somethin’, holler down that tube.”

  As soon as they were alone, Katy turned on Rowe like a spitting cat.

  “She thinks . . . she thinks that I’m your . . . your paramour!”

  “What’s so bad about that?”

  “There you go again! Dammit to hell, Rowe!”

  “Don’t swear, love. I don’t like to hear swear-words coming from your pretty mouth. I’ll go so you can take your bath and maybe you’ll be in a more pleasant frame of mind by the time I get back.”

  “What tube was Beulah talking about?”

  Rowe moved a metal plate on an inner wall. “When you’re through with the tub, call down and Beulah will send the boys to get it.”

  “Well for goodness’ sake!”

  “All the modern conveniences, sweetheart,” he said on his way to the door.

  Suddenly his arm snaked out and pulled her to him. Before she could utter a word of protest, he closed her mouth with his and kissed her, deeply, thoroughly. His mouth, warm, possessive, and flavored with the musky sweetness of the cigar he had smoked on the way into town, forced her lips apart in an intimacy greater than any of the other kisses they had shared. His breath was hot and fierce, his tongue bold, sensuous, and demanding, robbing her of the ability to think, breathe, or even begin to test her strength against the arms holding her. When he reluctantly released her mouth, he let out a rasping breath that blew warm on her wet lips. The eyes that looked into hers were dark mirrors that reflected her image. The exasperated look in her eyes had been replaced by an emotion of a different kind.

  “Make yourself pretty for me,” he said in a husky whisper, pinching her chin with his thumb and forefinger. “I want to show you off at supper tonight.”

  He left the door open when he went out. More angry at herself than him, Katy slammed it shut and twisted the key in the lock. She raised her hand and pressed her fingertips to her lips. They were warm and wet. Her whole body felt strangely hot as her mind roiled in a confused array of emotions. She had felt something totally unexpected just now when he held her in his arms and kissed her. He had felt it too, because in spite of his nonchalant manner, his heart had been pounding like a sledge hammer against her breasts.

  The night before she had been completely at ease with him when he massaged her tired muscles. There had been no mistaking the gentleness of his touch or the compassion he had displayed for her discomfort. She was not at ease now. Her heart was racing like that of a runaway horse, and in the core of her femininity was a gnawing ache.

  On one hand, she thought as she began to remove her clothing, she was beginning more and more to rely on Rowe. On the other hand, she had come to realize how dangerous and unpredictable he was. He was certainly capable of taking another human life. He had killed five men during the short time she had known him. Of course, she reasoned, the five men were trying to kill him. There was more to Garrick Rowe than met the eye. He was well-known here in Virginia City. But that wasn’t saying anything in his favor. In a town such as this, money spoke with a loud voice, but even if he had none, his looks would have made him attractive to women. The thought that he might have brought Nan Neal, the woman who waved at him from the funeral procession, to this room crossed her mind and troubled it.

  Katy pulled the draperies over the windows before she shed her last garment, climbed into the tub, and sank down in the warm, soothing water. It was heavenly! She leaned her head against the high back of the tub and scooted down until only the pink nipples of her breasts were above the water. She willed the warm water to soak away the aches and pains, the weariness, the anxieties.

  With her eyes closed, she tried to picture how Mary would look when she told her the way was clear for them to leave Trinity, but a dark face with straight black brows and eyes as dark as the bottom of a well kept getting in the way. The firm, hard lips opened, smiled, and whispered, “Nightrose.”

  Katy’s eyes flew open. “Nightrose!” She said the word aloud with a snort of disgust. The sound of her own voice had a strange sound in this strange room. “Damn you, Garrick Rowe, get out of my mind!” she snarled, cupped her hands. and splashed water up onto her face.

  She would have lingered in the tub, but the thought of Rowe returning and pounding on the door caused her to rush the bath. After she dried herself, she was tempted to wash her stockings, her drawers, and her shirt in the water, but then she reasoned that they would have to hang in the room to dry, exposed to Rowe’s eyes, and thought better of it. Later, she promised herself, she would ask Beulah for directions to the laundry.

  Now, dressed in the wrinkled dress that had been folded for two days in her valise, she brushed her hair, rebraided it, and pinned the braid to the back of her head.

  Make yourself pretty.

  She recalled Rowe’s words as she looked at herself critically in the mirror. The light blue dress had a white lace collar decorating the scooped neckline and three-inch lace on the cuffs. The dress was neat and in good taste, but far from fashionable. She’d look like a rag doll compared to some of the women she’d seen on the street today. The thought of appearing shabby and out of place made her cringe. Then pride came forward and restored her confidence. She hadn’t asked Rowe to take her to supper. As a matter of fact, there was no reason at all why she had to eat with him. She had two perfectly good legs and money in her pocket. There were other places in this town to eat besides the dining room of the Crescent Hotel.

  After she put all her things back in the valise, she stood by the window and looked down on the street. It was dusk and the traffic was not as heavy as when they had first arrived. Katy saw Rowe cross the street. She recognized the way he walked. Even without a hat, he was a half-head taller than any man on the street.

  A strange feeling centered in the region of Katy’s heart. She didn’t know if it was because he was the only person in sight who was familiar to her or anticipation of being with him in this small room. She watched him until he stepped under the canopy covering the porch of the hotel, then listened for his footsteps coming down the hall.

  Down the street at the Anaconda Hotel, Justin Rowe stood in the large oriel window built out from the wall and resting on a bracket. From this point he could see up and down the main street of Virginia City. His pale blue eyes were drawn to Rowe’s tall, lanky frame for he was a man who stood out in a crowd. As Justin watched, Rowe paused to let a carriage pass, then quickly crossed the street.

  “Helga,” Justin said sharply. “Come here.” The woman jumped off the chair and hurried to the window. “Isn’t that Garrick?”

  “Where?”

  “There! Going up the steps to the walk in front of the newspaper.”

  “Why, yes, I believe it is. Although I’ve never seen him in clothes like that.”

  “What did you expect, a cutaway coat and striped trousers?” he sneered.

 

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