Beyond the Broken Road, page 37
When he bent to get the bag, checking its contents, she put on her jacket. With the saddlebag in his hand, he put away his knife and reached for Abby, pulling her into his arms. Afraid he'd feel the gun, she threw her arms around his neck and lifted her lips for his kiss, pressing against him in a way that profaned what she had with Sam. She’d do whatever it took to save the man she loved. Even if that had meant having sex with this monster, she would do it. She prayed she would not have to go that far. She would get free. She’d learned a lot in these last months, not the least of which was she could kill if necessary.
She broke off the kiss, unable to bear being touched by him one second longer. She felt like throwing up but managed to smile. "Not here," she said, keeping her eyes shyly downcast so he wouldn't see the repulsion in them.
"All right, lady," he said, patting her buttocks as though her body already belonged to him. "Let's go. We've got plenty of time."
Drago opened the door, watched her go through it and looked at the bed and directly into Sam's dazed eyes. Saw him try to move only to find he was bound and gagged. Life was too sweet. He grinned and raised his hand in a half salute just before he slammed the door.
Walking down the hotel stairs, Abby considered her options. If she used her gun too soon and wasn’t effective, Drago might go straight back to where Sam was helpless. If she waited too long, a man much more familiar with guns would easily overpower her.
Drago stopped at the desk. "Mr. Ryker isn't feeling well. Please don't clean his room today.
The clerk frowned. "Does he need a doctor?"
Drago winked. "Not that kind of sickness, son."
Abby grimaced at the clerk's understanding smile. "We'll give him complete peace," he promised.
On the street, she saw three horses, one of them ridden by a small, dirty man "That's Monk," Drago said, putting his hand on her hip. "He's my partner."
“You were pretty confident I’d agree to come,” she said gesturing toward the horse intended for her.
“In myself at least,” he said with a smirk.
Before she could say anything, Bull yelled from down the boardwalk, "Hey there, Miss Abby." He walked up to them and looked suspiciously at Drago, then to Abby. "Where's Sam?"
Abby saw Drago's hand hover near his gun and knew from having seen the speed with which he'd pistol-whipped Sam that he could kill before Bull so much as got his gun out of the leather. She smiled. "I thought he said he was meeting you and Ollie somewhere. Wasn't that what you remember, Drago?"
"He change his mind about hiring these two?"
"Sure," Drago said with a grin. "We're good men, and he figured it out for himself."
Bull looked again at Abby. "You sure you're all right?"
She nodded and smiled. "You go on and look for Sam. Maybe the Oriental." She used the name of the only saloon she knew as she looked up at Drago. "Do you think that's what he said?"
"I didn't hear, but there or the Crystal Palace are good places to start."
Bull left, but not without another backward glance. Drago grinned. "Smart thinking, honey. I think you and I are going to get along just fine."
Struggling against the bonds that held him, Sam raged at his helplessness, then at Abby's duplicity. She'd led him to believe she loved him, but that kiss she’d given Sinclair seemed to say she’d meant none of her words. She had turned to another at the first sign of his weakness. Her betrayal didn't come as such a surprise to him, but why a man like Sinclair? Was she so naive that she didn't know what kind of man he was?
He had regained his senses in time to see her willingly go into the man’s arms. She had walked out the door without so much as a backward glance. Sinclair’s gloating smile had been his last glimpse of them.
He twisted his wrists, pulled at the strips of sheeting that held him, but nothing gave, except his skin as he began to rub his wrists raw. The gag left his mouth dry, made him feel as though he was choking on the wadding that had been shoved into his mouth. He couldn't make more than a grunt. Spread-eagled on the bed, he couldn't kick out to make enough noise to get noticed. Sinclair had been thorough. He'd give him that. Struggling was getting him nowhere. The rough friction was only hurting, but he couldn't stop himself. Like an animal caught in a trap, he thought he'd probably have chewed off a paw, except with this trap he couldn't even do that.
At the thought of Abby's betrayal, he felt tears come to his eyes. He wouldn't cry. Hadn't cried, not when his own mother died, not when Sandy died, but he'd wanted to, and he wanted to now. Despite Abby's deceitfulness, he loved her and knew she was stepping into a situation with Sinclair that was beyond her experience. He tugged on his bonds again. The bonds couldn't be that strong, but somehow they were.
This whole mess was his fault. He put her in a place where it could happen and now he was helpless to help her. His head hurt, felt it was splitting in two. It was hard to think clearly, but he knew one thing. She didn't deserve what Sinclair would do to her. He knew the kind of man he was. Abby didn't. Somehow, he had to get free. He closed his eyes, then opened them again, concentrating on keeping the room from spinning as he again pulled against the bonds that kept him from going after her.
Abby walked to the horses with Sinclair at her side. When she saw him throw the saddlebags over his horse, she drew the gun from her pocket, cocking it as she said, "This is far enough."
He turned to see what she meant and looked straight into the barrel of her derringer.
"They tell me it has two shots," she said smiling, “and that at close range it's quite deadly. Do you think this would be considered close range?"
Sinclair glared at the gun, then at her. "What are you trying to pull?"
"Warn your friend to stay on his horse and keep his hand away from his gun. I would shoot you first if he made me nervous. If you take one step toward me, that’s what I’ll do. Now unbuckle your gunbelt and let it drop to the ground.”
Sinclair gritted his teeth but did as she ordered and Monk settled watchfully into his saddle.
Not taking her eyes from Drago, she said, “You too on the horse.” When she heard the sound of his gun dropping, she told him to pull his rifle and Drago’s from their scabbards. Again, a satisfying sound. “
Now,” Abby said, “my suggestion is you take the stolen shipment to my father. Tell him that you left me in good condition with my husband. You can then pick up your reward and keep riding."
“You won’t get away with this.”
“I won’t? You do one thing I don’t want, and I’ll shoot you dead as I start screaming that you’re trying to kidnap me. My husband unconscious and tied to that bed upstairs will be all the witness I need."
He sneered at her. "You wouldn’t do that.”
“I’ve killed before, Mr. Sinclair.”
He stood still as a rattler waiting to strike as she backed a step from him to stand on the boardwalk. “I don’t believe that,” he retorted, scorn on his face.
“Are you willing to bet your life on it?” she asked with a faint smile.
He was infuriated. She felt the anger radiating toward her, like a red aura of hate and was surprised she didn’t feel afraid. Fear seemed to have fled from her. She had decided she didn’t need to watch them both, just Sinclair as the other would do as he was told.
“Now get on your horse and ride out of here. Leave the guns. I’m glad you were reasonable about this. I didn't want to kill anyone this morning. It is a terrible start to a day."
"You won't win," Sinclair hissed. "I will see you again."
"I understand your feelings, but if you and your partner are wise, you'll get that reward money and forget the rest. It's not worth dying for, and if I do see you again, I will be watching you die."
She watched as Sinclair mounted and wheeled his horse, with his partner at his heel, to gallop down the street. She then gathered up the revolvers and rifles and walked into the hotel.
She stopped at the desk and smiled at the room clerk. "Did you notice the man who was with me a few moments ago?"
He nodded, looking curiously at the guns in her arms.
"I don't want him upstairs, and if he or the one with him come in, could you immediately go for the sheriff?"
"They cause you trouble?"
"They hurt my husband and tried to kidnap me. I'm going up to check on him now. If he needs a doctor, I will ask you to send for one."
The clerk paled. "Hope there’s been no serious trouble in our hotel. We’re a quality establishment.”
“I know. Just one of those dangers of life in our times, I fear.” She walked toward the stairs
“Well, if you need him, Dr. Goodfellow's one of the best in the territory, Ma'am, and I'll be happy to send for him."
“I’ll let you know.”
He shook his head. "I don't like knowing there's been trouble in our hotel. I think maybe I ought to call the sheriff now."
She considered a moment. "I don't think my husband would want that, not yet anyway. Not if they don't come back." She smiled again and was relieved when the man smiled his agreement. Bad publicity wouldn’t help either of them.
When the door to the hotel room opened, Sam looked toward it. When he saw Abby and not Sinclair, the relief was so great as to almost cause him to lose consciousness again.
In angry frustration, he watched as she glanced only once at him before she locked the door, put a pile of guns on the dresser, and only then came to sit on the bed. He stared up at her, torn between anger that she'd gone, that she hadn't already started to untie him, and a relief that she was there so intense that he could barely think straight.
She reached up and began undoing the gag in his mouth. It took her a while, but she finally got it loose. He spit it out and tried to say her name, but all that came out was a croak. She went to the dresser, poured water in a glass, then put the glass to his lips. When he'd had a few sips, she took the glass away and set it on the bedside table, all without saying a word. God, what was she thinking?
“Untie me.”
She folded her hands on her lap "How do you feel?"
“Uncomfortable.”
She unwrapped the bandage she’d placed on his forehead and dipping a cloth into water, began washing carefully around the wound, her expression probing but giving nothing away of what she was thinking, of why she hadn’t already freed him. Her touch was both soothing and painful.
There were quiet steps outside the door, then a knock at the door. "Room clerk, Ma'am. Does Mr. Ryker need that doctor?"
She looked questioningly at Sam. "No, he doesn't,” he said.
"Very good." The steps retreated.
"Cut me loose,” Sam ordered, yanking at the unforgiving strips of cloth that held his wrists above his head.
“I don’t think so, just yet.”
“For God’s sake, why not?”
"If I cut you free, you'll go after him." She rested her hand lightly on his bare chest.
He stared at her. "You want to protect him?"
"That blow to your head must have loosened something important," she retorted, continuing to bathe his forehead with the cool water.
He gritted his teeth. "Abby, I’m losing patience here."
"Not good since we both know you don’t have a lot to begin.”
“No more games.”
“No, no games.”
“Then?”
“I won’t untie you until you promise not to go after him.”
"You are trying to protect him. I saw you kiss him." He knew he sounded distrustful, angry, and he couldn’t hide it.
"I think he was a bounty hunter. Did you know that?"
"No."
She stroked the hair from his forehead. "He wanted to kill you." Her voice was little more than a whisper, tears in those big dark eyes. He wanted to wipe them away. He wanted...
"He... had a knife too."
"You're not going to cry, are you?"
"I think I am." A tear trickled down her cheek, then her face crumpled, and she lowered her head to lay against his chest. "I thought he was going to kill you. He's got the stolen shipment though... so maybe he'll go away."
"All right." He took that all in, tried to assimilate what she was saying. She had kissed the man because she was protecting him. Somehow it didn't make sense, but then women rarely had to him. "Cut me loose now. I have to go after him, Abby, and the sooner, the better."
“No.”
“He will be back.”
“You can’t know that.”
“Yes, I can.”
"You've been hurt. You might have a concussion. You can't go after him now."
"Now is when he won't be expecting me."
"He'd kill you," she argued.
He felt frustrated in trying to reason with her. Okay, he’d try a different angle. Get her to talk, make her think logically and maybe then she’d see he had to go after Sinclair. He forced his voice to sound reasoning, far calmer than he felt inside. "Tell me what happened.”
She did, leaving out how she had deliberately set out to titillate Sinclair. She didn't want to talk about that, was not sure she ever would. The thought, of having to use her naked body that way, still left her feeling unclean. She knew, under those circumstances, she'd do it again, but it was a painful moment to remember.
"You did good, Abby. Now finish it up and cut me loose," he said, as firmly as a man spread-eagled to a bed could say it.
"No."
"Damnation woman. You can't keep me here forever."
"I don't need to, just for long enough that you can't go after him."
He lay back, breathing hard in his anger. Reasoning with her never seemed to work. He knew he was right. A man like Drago Sinclair wouldn't take lightly being bested, even more so by a woman. The man would shadow their trail until he was killed.
He felt her fingers tracing a pattern on his chest. He looked down as she kissed where she'd drawn. She bent, her hair was long and loose. It brushed across his belly as she bent to sip at his nipple, sucking a little.
"Abby, what the hell are you doing?” It didn’t take much to arouse him although he’d have never imagined under these circumstances it could happen. He had gone from believing she'd betrayed him, to understanding she had saved him, to feeling she was trying to make his decisions for him, and his mind was too beclouded by the blow he'd taken to make sense out of any of it.
She kissed his shoulder, running her tongue lightly over his skin. "I like this."
“What?” he muttered, then felt her lips against his. Without thinking, he opened his mouth to her, felt her tongue dart within, tease his. The sensations traveled down his body and increased his hardness. God, the woman would make him crazy.
“You are always so powerful. I like this… this being in control," she whispered as she put her hand over his growing bulge.
"Abby--" Again she planted her lips on his, the kiss so filled with heat and passion that it took his breath away and left him wondering why he wanted to be free. There would never be any freedom for him. Whether he was tied to her bed or not, he was bound to her in all the ways that mattered. Ways he could no longer deny.
"I love you, Sam," she whispered as she peppered kisses across his face, then down his neck and chest.
He was having a hard time controlling his breathing now for another reason. "What are you doing?"
"I am not sure, but do you like it?" She lost her train of thought as she again kissed him. To be able to touch him, stroke his muscular body, and make love to him was a heady drug. She dipped her fingers below the line of his pants-- almost, but not quite, touching his growing erection.
"So, it would seem," he managed, his voice husky, his eyes dark with passion as his body showed how much he liked it.
"Now, about what I want from you. I want it all, Sam. I want everything you've got, and I want to give all that back to you."
He closed his eyes. It was hard to believe how quickly he'd gone from losing everything, to knowing he'd won more than he'd ever imagined existed. He opened his eyes, met her gaze. "I do love you. You know that, don't you?" he whispered.
“I’ve hoped it." She bent and kissed him again. "And I've so much wanted to hear you say it."
The knock at the door, bold and loud, startled them both. "Who is it?" Abby asked reaching for the gun and wishing she had cut Sam free. Maybe he was right. Maybe Drago Sinclair had returned immediately for his vengeance.
"It's me, Bull. I couldn't find Sam at any of the saloons. I got to wondering if everything was really all right."
"It's fine," Abby said, stroking a hand down Sam's torso. She smiled and unbuttoned the second button on his pants.
"But Ollie ain't seen Sam either, and I thought maybe--"
"Quit worrying," Sam growled. "I'm right here. Now get lost."
Bull chuckled. “Gotcha, boss.” Then they heard his footsteps recede down the hall.
"Think you can cut these ties now?"
"What about Drago?"
"Abby!" His tone said he was losing his patience with her all over again.
"I mean it, Sam. You were hurt more than you think. I will not lose you."
"You won't." He shook his head, wincing at the pain. He knew she was probably right about his head. He wasn't in any shape to go riding off. "You know I could have had Bull come in and untie me," he reminded her, not wanting to have to capitulate completely but realizing he was close to it.
"But you didn't want him to see you like this, did you?" she asked with a little smile, as she undid the next button on his pants. "I personally think you look particularly appealing, spread out across this bed, all those muscles in tension, so ready for me and all I'd have to do is pull down your pants for… but I expect Bull might think it was funny--at least after he knew you weren't seriously hurt."
He gave up. "All right, what do you want me to do?"
"Take me home."
He closed his eyes as the pain slid over him. Had he misunderstood what she had been saying? After all this, she wanted him to take her to her father. He couldn't go with her. Tucson was no place for him, but he would take her. “When do you want to leave?” he managed.
