Lawman Page 19

  Raising his hand, Gabriel traced her smile’s curve with his thumb, feeling an answering grin come to his lips. Why the feel of her bowed, smiling mouth should bring him such a dose of happiness as he felt now, he couldn’t imagine. He only knew that it did.

  He swallowed lingering traces of chocolate and drew in a breath with which to tell her so. “Megan, I—”

  “Wait! Here.”

  Her fingers fluttered, then she quickly leaned toward him. He recognized the second piece of fudge in her hand in the same instant she shoved it at his lips. He opened his mouth to take it without thinking, and found himself savoring more chocolate—while she readied still another piece in her shaky hands.

  “Mmmph.” He gestured to have no more, then was forced to speak around the bite he had when Megan raised a third piece all the same. “You don’t have to—”

  “I’m glad to see you like it,” she said brightly, poring over the remaining pyramid of fudge in her hand. She glanced up, saw he was still chewing, and went on: “Because it’s really meant as a thank-you. You seem to be particularly fond of sweets, so I asked Hattie for some fudge to take with me. For you!”

  Abruptly, she ended her wobbly sounding speech and thrust the packet toward him. The waxy papers wavered in the breeze, close enough to snap against his hat brim. Gabriel eased his hand over them and cupped the entire bundle—papers, fudge, and Megan’s hand—in his palm, lowering them so he could see past the whole mess to her face.

  She blinked back at him, her full lower lip caught between her teeth. It struck him that Megan seemed nervous—endearingly so. But why?

  If he hadn’t helped prepare it with his own two hands, Gabriel might have sworn the fudge was poisoned, and her nervousness owed itself to fear of being caught murdering a Pinkerton man with tainted sweets.

  She lowered her voice, visibly uneasy—yet determined to do what she planned, all the same. “Th—thank you for helping me today. I want you to know it…it meant a great deal to me.”

  He opened his mouth to speak. Quick as a lightening bug, Megan swept her hand from beneath the shelter of his and rammed in another hunk of fudge. Obviously, she needed time to get out whatever she was trying to say. Gabriel considered himself an obliging man. He waited.

  And chewed.

  Likewise, Megan nibbled at her lip. She darted him a sideways glance, then hefted the pile of fudge. “You might as well just take this,” she blurted, lowering it.

  Her paper-wrapped gift quivered on its descent toward his thighs, rustling like falling autumn leaves, then landed crookedly in his lap. She gave a goofy grin, happy as a worker with a job well done. If Megan realized she’d all-but shook hands with his manhood in the process of handing over the candy, she gave no sign of it.

  “Thank you,” Gabriel said, feeling as though his pants had suddenly shrunk two sizes too small. He shifted in search of a comfortable position. A piece of candy tumbled from the pile in his lap, bounced from his boot, and fell to the dirt.

  “Oh!” Megan bent double to retrieve it, babbling something about wasting perfectly good chocolate. Gabriel smiled and drew her upward again, watching with curiosity as she brushed off her hands and settled herself in what he supposed was meant as a dignified pose.

  “Come out with it, Megan,” he coaxed at last, making a heroic effort to hide his smile. Well-earned as it was, his amusement wouldn’t sit well with her now, he’d guess. “It’s plain you’ve something more on your mind, and we haven’t all night to spend here—much as I wish we did.”

  The husky edge to his voice shocked him into new awareness. Frowning over its implications, Gabriel sought to paste on a placid expression. This was dangerous territory they trod—especially for two enemies, both seeking the same wanted man.

  She looked at him. He couldn’t gauge the effect of his supposedly placid face—until Megan licked her lips, and sent her gaze roving over his mouth once more.

  Hell. It hadn’t worked.

  Did she understand what her innocent interest could do to a man? Knowing Megan, he’d have guessed she did nothing without planning it first. But in this, the dealings between men and women, she seemed suddenly and genuinely unsure.

  Gabriel glanced away, the better to consider this new facet to the woman he had thought he’d come to know, at least a little. Nearby, lighted lanterns swung from the tree branches, sending a warm yellow glow across Levin’s Park. Sometime during his time with Megan, the sun had set completely.

  It was nearly time for the meeting he’d come here to see, Gabriel realized. His belly tightened at the knowledge that this new closeness between him and Megan would vanish once she knew the truth of their reason for visiting Levin’s Park.

  The musicians began another song. As though she took courage from their melody, Megan sat straighter and drew a deep breath. “Well, I just mean to thank you, is all,” she said briskly. “Thank you. For helping me, and for pretending to be my dressmaker’s mannequin today.”

  Her words came faster, but her face did not turn again toward his. Gabriel found himself missing the sight of her flushed cheeks and discovery-bright eyes, and knew he was more a fool than he’d known for taking on this last case.

  And for taking her with him.

  “You don’t know how important that was to me,” she went on, “and I…I know how hard such subterfuge must have been. Especially for a man like you. Mighty hard.”

  Not as hard as it should have been. Gabriel frowned. Evidently, habits learned in childhood weren’t as easily broken as he’d wished.

  He glanced sideways at Megan. Her shoulders slumped, rounding slightly forward. With relief, he’d wager, now that her task was finished.

  “You’re welcome,” he said, setting his candy aside atop his suit coat. “It was no harder, I’d say, than that thank-you was for you.”

  His comment found its mark. Megan’s head jerked upward. With wary eyes, she examined his face, took measure of his stance, and then folded her hands demurely across the fan and gloves jumbled atop her skirts. “I did it, didn’t I? That’s all that needs said.”

  From the corner of his eye, Gabriel glimpsed a bewhiskered, bowler-hatted man wandering casually toward the musicians. Another man joined him. They stood together, partly concealed in the shadows between pools of swaying lamplight. From this distance, and given the poor light, he couldn’t tell if they were the men he sought.

  Not wanting to alert Megan until he felt more sure, he went on with their conversation: “You seem a woman who does everything she sets out to do. This shouldn’t be any different.” He spared her a glance, then looked toward the two men again. “And yet it was.”

  Saying nothing, she fiddled with her gloves, drawing on first one and then the other. She lingered over buttoning them, her fingers nimble as she tucked each pearly button into place.

  “It’s not because I’m ungrateful,” Megan told him at length. “I haven’t much experience with delivering thank-yous, is all.”

  “Why is that?”

  The words slipped from him in a distracted tone. Gabriel peered toward the musicians, and the crowd gathered ‘round them, then spied a Mexican boy carrying a lighted torch. The child made his way past the tenpin alley beyond, then crouched low, setting something alight.

  A bonfire flared into life. The gathering people stared toward it, their faces cast into bold view by the flames. In twos and threes, they went back to watching the musicians. Soon, only their silhouettes were visible.

  Megan raised her hands to her hat brim, tilting it at a sharper angle. “I don’t generally have a need to thank anyone,” she said. Something in her voice warned him he’d stepped on dangerous ground once more, but Gabriel couldn’t imagine how.

  And with the assembly forming just a few feet away, he couldn’t spare time to wonder.

  “You do everything for yourself, then?” he asked idly.

  A third man joined the two he’d seen. He pulled something from his pocket and tossed it into the air, then
caught it. Was it the sign Gabriel had been told to look for? He couldn’t see well enough to tell….

  “Mostly, yes,” Megan said. As though she somehow sensed his growing interest in the crowd near the musicians, she eased forward against her stone wall seat. In the distance, the players’ guitars raced to a crescendo, then abruptly fell silent.

  In the scattered applause that followed, she said, “I’ve no need for thank-yous, agent Winter. Most things I handle myself.”

  She meant it to be dismissive. He recognized that much from the proud tilt of her chin, and the tight clasp Megan kept on her folded fan. Instead, Gabriel found himself suddenly saddened by the glimpse into her life she had inadvertently given him.

  She had spent it alone. Seeking help from no one. Receiving none. And now, if all went as he’d planned, Gabriel would increase her loneliness in ways she could never have foreseen from her days at Kearney Station.

  He opened his mouth to say something—anything—that might ease her. At the same time, a fourth man stepped forward to join the rest. In the flickering bonfire’s light, Gabriel recognized him.

  Joseph Kearney. Standing nigh within reach.

  Chapter Fourteen

  No sooner had Megan recognized that the stocky man in the plain work shirt, twill trousers, and low-slung hat was her papa than Gabriel Winter stiffened beside her. In an instant, his body turned hard as the stones of the fountain wall they sat upon.

  Doubtless he would be equally hardened against the lives his investigation would ruin.

  Desperation rushed through her, along with an unlikely set of explanations. Maybe Gabriel didn’t know what the bonfire’s flames had revealed. Maybe he’d merely been watching the musicians, and then had tensed at some misplayed note in their song. Hoping to have her guesses confirmed, she dared a quick glance in his direction.

  One look at his uncompromising profile left her pulse thundering. Gabriel had seen her papa.

  And he’d recognized him, too.

  She wanted to scream for her papa to run, to throw herself on Gabriel and beg him to end his chase now, before it went too far for reparations. Most especially, she wanted to take back all the time she’d wasted with mooning over a coldhearted Pinkerton man, just as though his helping her today had been genuine, and freely given.

  And to think she’d humbled herself to thank him for it!

  Never again, Megan swore, taking in Gabriel’s icy stance. She’d sooner never be helped than to be taken advantage of for the need of it.

  Obviously, her plans to strive for independence had been correct all along. More than ever, she saw the need for her dressmaker’s shop sale to go forward—and for the security it would bring. She couldn’t rely upon anyone to help her. Agent Winter’s actions today were simply more proof of that cold reality.

  Beside her, Gabriel dropped his hand to his gun belt. His thumb rubbed over the ammunition arrayed there, in a caressing gesture that was strangely reminiscent of the way he’d traced her smile just a short while ago. Hurt poured through her at the remembrance.

  Would she never stop needing so much as she did?

  Gabriel’s gaze narrowed. In a move as calculating as any she’d witnessed from him, he rose slowly to his feet—and at the same time planted one big hand across Megan’s chest, holding her still on the fountain’s wall. His touch seared her, a handprint both unshakable and unwanted.

  Beneath her dress, she felt her locket and chain press into her skin, held there by his frightening strength…and kept there with remarkable stealth. She doubted anyone around them even knew something was amiss.

  He bent. His hunter’s intensity overwhelmed her, quelling all other impressions of the man before her. His dark-shadowed face loomed over hers, and for one crazy instant it reminded her of the times Gabriel had kissed her.

  “Stay here,” he growled.

  He turned toward the bonfire, stirring the crisp autumn air as he abruptly released her. Megan lurched forward and dragged on his arm.

  “You did this apurpose!” she hissed. “You brought me here to catch him. You knew he’d be here, too.”

  His eyebrow raised. Something close to admiration crossed his face, then vanished like the bonfire sparks popping into the dusky sky behind him. “As did you.”

  He was guessing. She knew from the way he paused, visibly caught between discovering what she might know—and the possibility of ending his pursuit within moments. Nevertheless, he’d figured it aright. Megan had known her father might appear here.

  The ladies at Hattie’s house had confided as much to her, during the long interval when Gabriel had disappeared into the kitchen. She’d taken the opportunity to question them about the frequent Faro games her papa entered into—as did many of their men, husbands and fathers—and had discovered the gamblers’ meeting place and time.

  Levin’s Park, near the Sonoran players. At bonfire’s lighting.

  She’d even heard tell of the signal they used to know the men expected into the game—a domino, at least for today, tossed repeatedly into the air and then captured.

  Captured. Megan shuddered at how poorly she’d formed the thought. Her papa would not be captured this night. Not if she could help it.

  Perhaps she could delay the Pinkerton man. She had to try.

  Meeting his challenging stare, she released her hold on Gabriel’s arm. “I did know. What of it? Did you really think I’d spend all afternoon gossiping, and not emerge with something to show for it?”

  With satisfaction, Megan saw the way his mouth gaped in surprise. Somehow, she managed to force a chastising sound past her fear-clotted throat. “You should know me better than that by now, agent Winter.”

  For an instant, Gabriel stood stock-still. Had she rendered him speechless? Motionless? Truly, that would be even better, and it appeared a fact. For one long moment, he did nothing more than stare at her, his look slowly turning from one of bafflement to furious resolve.

  “That I do,” he finally said. “I do know you and your conniving ways, Megan Kearney. It’s the reason I’ll not stand here with you any longer.”

  Sensing the move he meant to make, she stuck her foot out and prayed fiercely he would trip. Instead, as though he had expected her tactic all along, Gabriel stepped neatly over top of her outflung leg and headed again for the bonfire.

  Megan wished she’d thought to kick him instead. Sweet heavens! How could she stop him from capturing her papa?

  She flew after him, fear and need making her stumble on clumsy feet until she managed to snag hold of the back of his vest. Clutching a fistful of the fine worsted fabric, she righted herself—and then pulled with all her strength.

  He didn’t even stop walking. Wildly, Megan remembered the way Mose’s challenging shove at Kearney Station had been met with similar results. She had no chance of stopping the Pinkerton man like this. Driven to desperation, she changed strategies again.

  Trotting along beside him, her hand clenched on his clothes, she begged him in a hoarse, pleading whisper not to capture her father. Asked him to let her bring her papa to him, to let them straighten things out another time, another place. To question her instead, if that was what it took.

  Anything.

  Suddenly, only a few paces from the fountain, Gabriel halted. Unbalanced both by his stopping and the twisted, raised cottonwood roots underfoot, Megan fell against his shoulder. She felt herself turned hard and fast in his arms, saw the mean angle of his jaw come into view, and raised her hands to cup his face beseechingly between her palms.

  The scratchy heat of his cheeks and jaw burned at her fingertips. The determined set of his expression had the power to hurt her even more. Raising herself on tiptoes, Megan set forth her last heartfelt plea.

  Somewhere inside him was the man who had laughed with her. The man who had tenderly kissed her, and called her beautiful. There had to be some way to reach him.

  “You must believe me!” she cried. “Don’t do this thing, please. I swear to you he i
s innocent.”

  Gabriel’s jaw hardened. She felt the muscles clench beneath her hands, and knew a keen sense of desperation unlike any she’d ever known. Her papa was slipping away from her, and so were her chances at the future she’d hoped for. There had to be something she could do!

  “I need proof,” Gabriel said harshly.

  He looked over Megan’s shoulder to the place where the musicians played, the bonfire crackled…and Joseph Kearney gathered with his companions to begin their night’s gambling—unaware of the Pinkerton agent who sought to capture him, jail him, and in the process, ruin his good name.

  He returned his hard stare to her. “Do you have that?”

  Her mind whirled, seeking something that would satisfy him. She found nothing.

  “Do you?” she asked. He would not beat her at this. He would not. What entreaties could not gain her, maybe logic would. “Do you have proof? If so, you’ve not shown it to me.”

  He didn’t reply. Hope flared within her—and died on his next breath.

  “I will have it,” he said.

  “You’re bluffing!”

  “I’m not a man given to make-believe, remember?”

  Megan remembered. Remembered all the time they’d spent together at the Celestial Kitchen yesterday evening, when he’d revealed to her his dislike for fairy tales, even as a boy. Remembered how foolishly she had hoped that, with just one glimpse of her China heaven stars, she might turn Gabriel Winter less cynical and more believing.

  She’d more likely find her sewing thread wound on golden spools someday, or hear her mama’s voice when she next went home to Kearney Station.

  Impossible things, all of them. And wishing wasn’t enough to make them real.

  If it was, she’d have had her mama returned to her long ago.

  Gabriel closed his fingers around her wrists in a warm, rough-callused grasp, plainly meaning to pull her hands away. Megan’s palms stilled against his face. Under any other circumstances, his touch might have thrilled her. Now, it only filled her with the fear that she had failed to move him…when she so desperately needed to have succeeded.