Lawman Page 16

  “I intend to,” she informed him archly.

  “You do?” With interest, Gabriel leaned forward.

  “Certainly. Just as soon as I’ve—” She paused, biting her lip in thought, then glanced up at him brightly. “That is, once I’ve gathered the necessary funds.”

  “Funds?”

  “Yes. It takes money to open a shop, agent Winter. Surely someone so worldly as you knows that.”

  Abruptly, she fell silent—consumed, for all appearances, with spooning exactly the correct quantity of sugar into the new cup of coffee she’d poured. Curiously, Gabriel watched her.

  Megan was hiding something. Something new, that he hadn’t been aware of before. Suddenly, Gabriel felt sure of it, and wanted to kick himself for not questioning her more closely until now. Was it the location of the missing shipment of payroll? Her father’s whereabouts?

  Her own guilt?

  He didn’t want to believe it. Could not believe it. But the fact remained that, by her own admission, Megan Kearney spent her days at the stage station. Could she really be as uninvolved as he’d assumed with the station’s business?

  Unanswered questions filled his thoughts. The approach of a uniformed hotel employee cut short Gabriel’s opportunity to have them said. With the burgeoning conversation between him and Megan waylaid, he could only watch as the white-aproned serving girl presented three plates laden with the griddlecakes and maple syrup, breakfast buns, and toasted bread with strawberry jam he’d ordered. Then, with a curtsy, the girl left them to their meal.

  Smiling, Megan gazed down at her plate. “I see you have a bit of a sweet tooth. Do you suppose there’s any sugar left in the kitchens, after this?”

  “I hope so.” Gabriel grinned back at her. Despite his new misgivings, the teasing, almost affectionate expression she wore loosened something inside him that until now he’d kept tightly held. “I’ll probably want more later.”

  “You will?”

  He nodded. Shaking her head with mock disbelief, she speared a bite of griddlecake and tucked the buttery, syrup-drenched morsel between her lips. Her tiny moan of delight increased his appreciation of maple trees and griddles tenfold.

  “A man’s appetite is a curious thing, sugar,” Gabriel acknowledged, watching her close her eyes in apparent bliss as she chewed and swallowed. “Sometimes it won’t be satisfied with less than the sweetest thing within reach.”

  Not even if that sweetness could cost him dearly. Deeply aware that what he’d learned this morning placed her squarely among his likeliest suspects, he kept his words teasing…but they were nonetheless true. He did want her, in spite of the ever-mounting reasons not to trust her.

  Laughing, Megan eyed his overflowing plate. “I do believe you’re more insatiable than most.”

  “Perhaps.” He let his gaze slip to her breasts. Definitely. How she could hide such sweetness as that behind those stiff-starched, prissy dresses of hers was beyond his understanding.

  He’d have dressed her in something softer and paler, something more befitting the woman he glimpsed underneath her defenses.

  Something like bare skin, and little else.

  Oblivious to his thoughts, Megan munched on a triangle of toast and smiled at him from across the table. Apparently, she had a fondness for sweetness, too. He could hardly believe she hadn’t ordered fried eggs and bacon, just to be contrary.

  Needing time to think about all that she’d said, Gabriel turned his attention to his meal. A thought nagged at him, all through his first cinnamon bun and partway through his first slice of toast. It wasn’t until he reached for the dish of extra jam the serving girl had left, and glimpsed the third filled plate at the place setting to his side, that he realized what it was.

  He put down his fork and gazed pointedly at Megan. “So,” he asked, folding his hands, “what have you done with McMarlin this time?”

  Chapter Twelve

  The bite of toast in Megan’s mouth turned to sawdust at Gabriel’s question.

  What have you done with McMarlin this time?

  Dismay stopped her mouth in mid-chew. Forcing herself to go on munching as cheerily as she could, lest Gabriel guess how well he’d unbalanced her already this morning, Megan pondered his question.

  Doubtless, agent Winter believed she’d done something terrible. Especially after last night. She still found it hard to believe that she’d taken on a Pinkerton man in the midst of a dark alley, even while scared out of her wits…and won.

  She hoped last night’s success boded well for her efforts with Gabriel. Realistically, though, she realized those hopes might be a trifle optimistic. The man seated across from her seemed far stronger and faster—and measurably more daunting—than his cigar-smoking cohort.

  Even Mose hadn’t been foolhardy enough to challenge Gabriel Winter directly.

  Slowing her chewing to buy time to think, Megan tried to summon up a bit of the iron-shackled ire she’d come downstairs to the dining room with. Being handcuffed to agent Winter—being forced to sleep with him—should have been the ultimate humiliation.

  Instead, it had proved not half so arduous as she’d feared. In truth, parts of her overnight confinement had been surprisingly pleasurable…like waking up suffused with the kind of warmth no rising sun alone could kindle, and finding herself held close in Gabriel’s strong, hard-muscled arms.

  Her body fairly tingled at the memory…not that she meant to reveal as much to him. The scoundrel deserved whatever regrets she’d heaped upon him when she’d arrived at breakfast, Megan assured herself. In fact, he deserved worse, just for daring to serve up such an audacious smile to her when he’d first spied her in the dining room doorway.

  To be the recipient of such obvious masculine favor, especially from a man like Gabriel, had thrilled her to the tips of her poor spinster’s toes. And beyond.

  At least it had until she’d come to her senses, and realized what a sham he must be trying to play on her again.

  Clearly, he meant to use every weapon at his disposal to persuade her to give away her father’s whereabouts. That potent charm of his was just another of those weapons—not the genuine fondness Megan sometimes found herself foolishly hoping for. If only she could make herself remember it!

  In all, though, for a man who would put an innocent woman in chains, Gabriel had proved remarkably tender as a sleeping companion. Despite the fact that his tall, lean body had felt large enough to sprawl over the entire four-poster bed they’d shared, he had gallantly made room for her on one side. He’d fluffed up her pillow, offered to find extra quilts if she was cold beneath the coverlet, brought her a glass of cool water from the olla in the corner.

  Of course, she’d had to shuffle along behind him while he did it, thanks to their shared handcuffs. But his intentions had been kindhearted, at least.

  In short, Gabriel had cared for her.

  To assuage his guilty conscience, Megan reminded herself. After all, she wasn’t his suspect. Her father was! Perhaps he’d realized the questionable ethics of all-but kidnapping a suspect’s daughter, and meant to make amends with her today.

  If so, he was off to a mighty slow start.

  “Well?” he prompted, drawing his eyebrows together.

  She frowned at his demanding tone. He was most certainly off to a slow start, if this was his way of mending fences with a person.

  Since time had done nothing to prepare her for answering his question, Megan surrendered to the inevitable. She swallowed her toast and gave him her bravest look.

  “I believe agent McMarlin has left the hotel,” she said coolly. With interest, she noted the flush creeping into Gabriel’s lean cheeks. Yes, this ought to take his mind off questioning her quite nicely, she figured. “Something really ought to be done about him, don’t you think so? The man is far too lax in his duties.”

  “Lax?”

  “Yes.” Calmly cutting herself another bite of the hotel kitchen’s delicious pancakes—with hopes of reawakening her rap
idly failing appetite—Megan spared him a quick glance. She hoped he hadn’t noticed how her hands were trembling. “You must agree, especially after this latest escapade of his.”

  Spoken through clenched teeth, his reply was menacing. “Megan, I swear, if you’ve—”

  “If I’ve what?” she interrupted quickly, not at all sure she wanted to know the nature of his threat—or what he suspected her of.

  He scowled. She shrugged. As a woman who routinely felled great Pinkerton detectives, she guessed she oughtn’t be surprised he’d grown wary of her. The notion gave her an exciting—if short-lived—sense of power.

  “If you’ve done something with McMarlin, there’ll be hell to pay this time,” Gabriel said. “Damnation,” he muttered. “I never should have left the two of you alone together.”

  Perhaps a further bit of diversion was in order, Megan decided.

  “Jealous, agent Winter?” she asked.

  Disbelief shadowed his expression. “Jealous? Of what?”

  “Of agent McMarlin, of course.” She sipped her coffee. “I’ll admit, he does receive a great deal of my attention…at least, in between escapes, he does.”

  His level, all-too-comprehending look could have nailed her to her chair. “You ditched him again.”

  “Ditched him? Hmmm.” Pretending to think about that, she bit into her cinnamon bun and savored its spicy sweetness. “Well, I will admit that agent McMarlin may have mistaken the knotted bed sheets I dangled from the balcony for an escape route.” She shrugged. “Who can say if he followed it or not?”

  An unintelligible sound of frustration issued from her dining companion.

  “Agent Winter, are you all right?” With a great show of observation, she leaned forward. Gabriel’s freshly shaven jaw, clean scented dark hair, and handsome suit were all just as she’d expected. The fearsome set to his expression was not.

  Trying not to lose her nerve in the face of it, she nonchalantly raised her pancake-laden fork and said, “I didn’t know a man’s eyes could bug out quite so fiercely as that. You’re quite remarkable.”

  His fingers tightened around the knife he’d been using to spread glistening strawberry jam on a slice of toast. Gabriel glanced from his knife to her throat—undoubtedly entertaining visions of quieting her for good, the scoundrel. Then, to Megan’s astonishment, he laughed.

  Great guffaws of amusement burst from his lips. Louder even than the scrape of cutlery against china and rattling of serving carts surrounding them, the sound of Gabriel’s laughter drew the attention of every dining room patron.

  Nonplussed, Megan stared. What in heaven’s name did he find so funny? Perhaps he’d finally gone ‘round the bend, driven to lunacy by the demands of tracking criminals who weren’t—like her father—and needling their daughters—like her.

  Retaining her composure in the face of his hilarity wasn’t easy. Her mention of the way she’d sidestepped agent McMarlin had been meant to distract Gabriel from asking any more questions about the money she intended to use for her dressmaker’s shop—not to position her as the subject of his joke. She couldn’t have him delving too deeply into her missing nest egg money—or her reasons for believing her father might have taken it. To be sure, Gabriel Winter would suspect her father still further if he knew about Joseph’s gambling habits.

  But she hadn’t intended to amuse him so much as this! Crossing her arms, Megan watched the play of laughter on his face. In an instant, the harsh lines of his face eased, and his demeanor took on an lightheartedness she’d never glimpsed in Gabriel before. His body shook with wholehearted mirth.

  At the sight, something inside her softened. Like this, Gabriel seemed younger, less cynical…as though there were infinitely more to him than the relentless Pinkerton man he’d allowed her to see.

  His laughter subsided quickly, like a summer storm spent in moments. She should have known, Megan reminded herself staunchly, that any carefree behavior from Gabriel Winter would be short-lived.

  The man was as determined and single-minded as the Arizona Territory sky was blue.

  Just like her.

  Something in common, the rebellious, lonesome part of her whispered. Deliberately, she pushed back the thought and focused on Gabriel’s newly serious expression.

  He caught sight of her undoubtedly curious regard…and actually chuckled anew.

  She reached for his coffee cup, tilted it toward her, and sniffed its contents suspiciously. “Have you been imbibing already? I didn’t notice any liquor on your breath, but perhaps the coffee disguised it.”

  “I don’t need liquor to recognize when I’ve met my match,” he said, retrieving his cup from her grasp. “Or to know that leaving you out of my sight, even for the length of time it takes a lady to get gussied up, was a mistake. A mistake I don’t mean to repeat.”

  Affronted by his insinuation that she needed a length of time to beautify herself for the day, Megan lifted her chin. “Fine. Release me, and we needn’t concern ourselves with each other any longer.”

  “No.” He finished slathering jam on his toast and crunched off at least half of his triangular-shaped slice with one bite.

  My, the man was large. Large mouth, wide shoulders…big hands. Her gaze lowered to his strong, capable fingers as they cradled his toast. The deft, delicate way he handled that slice of bread as he prepared it for consumption reminded her of the way he’d cupped her jaw in his hand yesterday…in preparation for his kiss.

  Remembering that kiss, she felt anew the prick of the adobe wall at her back when he’d pressed hard against her, holding her in place with the shocking tilt of his hips on hers. She tasted again the heated textures of his lips and tongue, felt the seductive slide of his hand moving down her neck to hold her still. Gabriel had known exactly what he’d wanted from her. She’d been all too happy to give it, believing herself fully in control of all that happened.

  Believing herself well-protected against caring whether he wanted her at all.

  Now, Megan knew no such certainty. The realization scared her—almost as much as did the sudden stillness of his hands.

  She looked up. Belatedly, she realized he’d been speaking to her…and she’d heard not a word, thanks to her unlikely girlish daydreams. What was the matter with her?

  Clearing her throat, Megan took a moment to gather what poise she could. “I’m sorry,” she said, taking up her fork again. “I was speculating how far afield agent McMarlin might have gone by now. What did you say?”

  His eyes, dark as her chances seemed of finding her father in time, gleamed at her from across the table. Her heart sank. Gabriel believed himself to have the upper hand.

  He was probably right.

  Drat the man and his nimble, seductive fingers!

  “I said, I’m surprised you didn’t clobber him on his way down the bed sheets.”

  “I couldn’t.” Neither could she conceal the mischievous smile that crept to her lips. “I was hiding beneath the bed.”

  His mouth quirked upward in an answering grin. “I’m beginning to think you’re not as ferocious as you pretend, sugar.”

  “Ferocious?” Even knowing he had to be teasing her, she shuddered. If the gossips in town caught wind of such an accusation, she’d never hear the end of it. The marriageable males for miles would scatter to the corners of the Territory, scared away by the latest tale of the spinster Kearney.

  Why that notion should pain her now more than ever, she couldn’t begin to guess.

  “Not hardly,” she went on with an arch of her brow. “I did wash and bandage the lump on poor agent McMarlin’s head last night, remember?”

  “As the man on the other end of the handcuffs, I could hardly fail to notice.”

  “See? For my part, agent Winter—”

  “Gabriel.”

  He sounded fit to be tied at her refusal to use his given name. Naturally, that only compelled her to refuse still further.

  “—I’m beginning to think you’re not as relentl
ess as you pretend.”

  “Don’t lay bets on that.” His mouth drew taut. “You’re living proof that women’s intuition is less reliable than facts. Hasn’t anyone told you assumptions are dangerous?”

  “Hasn’t anyone told you actions speak louder than words?”

  Unbidden, an image of Gabriel’s face, relaxed as it had been in laughter, pushed its way into Megan’s mind. She pushed it straight back.

  “Take your actions, for instance,” she went on pointedly. “You’re still sitting here, calmly having breakfast with me. Why haven’t you already gone to retrieve poor misguided agent McMarlin?”

  He wiped his fingers on his napkin, blotted his mouth, then looked up. “Is that what you had planned?”

  She heaved a sigh, hoping it sounded as nonchalant as his guess at her intentions had. “Actually, I’d planned to escape—straight out the front door,” she informed him. “But then I happened to glance inside the dining room as I passed by, and found myself too hungry to leave straightaway.”

  “Mmmm.” Gabriel’s eyes narrowed as he examined her hardly touched plate of sugary, syrup-coated food. “I’d say you found yourself too eager to see me to leave.” With a challenging—and altogether aggravating—tilt of his head, he clasped his hands together and fixed her with a discerning look. “You’re enjoying our time together. Admit it.”

  “Ha!” She tossed her head, then was forced to ruin the drama of the moment by slapping away a ribbon that slipped into her eyes. “Admit some bit of nonsense like that?” If she did, he’d probably use it against her somehow. “I’d sooner sleep on a bed of saguaros.”

  He grinned and made a tsk-tsk sound. “They wouldn’t dare poke their needles into you, sugar. I’ve no doubt you’d kick them into submission, given the way you sleep.”

  Her cheeks heated at his reminder of the enforced intimacy they’d shared last night. “At least a cactus wouldn’t steal the coverlet!”

  “Ahhh.” Slowly, Gabriel stroked his palms over the tablecloth, for all the world looking wounded at her accusation. “But with the sun so much above them, the saguaros have warming enough to last. I’ll wager no cactus gets as cold as I do…nor could it claim such a need for warmth.”