Kit reached Texas the second week of November. It was a long journey, made all the more arduous by the fact that she hadn't traveled alone.
The uninhabited space of Texas was a surprise to her. It was so different from South Carolina—the flat east Texas prairie and then the rougher country farther inland, where twisting trees grew from jagged rocks and tumbleweed chased across the harsh, hilly terrain. She was told that the canyons flooded when it rained, sometimes washing away entire herds of cattle, and that in the summer, the sun baked the earth until it hardened and cracked. Yet there was something about the land that appealed to her. Perhaps the challenge it posed.
Still, the closer she came to San Carlos, the more uncertain she became about what she'd done. She had precious responsibilities now, yet she'd left the familiar behind to search for a man who'd never said he loved her.
As she climbed the wooden steps that led to the Yellow Rose Gambling Palace, her stomach twisted into tight, painful knots. She'd hardly been able to eat for days, and this morning not even the mouthwatering smells that drifted up from the dining room of the nearby Ranchers Hotel had been able to tempt her. She'd dallied while she dressed, fixing her hair one way and then another, changing outfits several times, and even remembering to check for any unfastened buttons or hooks that might have escaped her notice.
She'd finally decided to wear her dove-gray dress with the soft rose piping. It was the same outfit she'd worn on her return to Risen Glory. She'd even added the matching hat and veiled her face. It comforted her somehow, the illusion that she was starting over again. But the dress fit differently now, clinging tighter to her breasts as a reminder that nothing remained the same.
Her gloved hand trembled slightly as she reached for the swinging door that led into the saloon. For a moment she hesitated, and then she pushed hard against it and stepped inside.
She'd learned that the Yellow Rose was the best and most expensive salon in San Carlos. It had red-and-gold wallpaper and a crystal chandelier. An ornately carved mahogany bar ran the length of the room, and behind it hung a portrait of a reclining nude woman with titian curls and a yellow rose caught between her teeth. She'd been painted against a map of Texas, so that the top of her head rested near Texarkana and her feet curled along the Rio Grande. The portrait gave Kit a renewed kick of courage. The woman reminded her of Veronica.
It wasn't quite noon, and only a few men sat inside. One by one, they stopped talking and turned to study her. Even though they couldn't see her features clearly.
her dress and her bearing indicated she wasn't a woman who belonged inside a saloon, even the elegant Yellow Rose.
The bartender cleared his throat nervously. "Can I help you, ma'am?"
"I'd like to see Baron Cain."
He glanced uncertainly toward a flight of curving stairs at the back and then down at the glass he was polishing. "There's no one here by that name."
Kit walked past him and made her way toward the stairs.
The man dashed around the edge of the bar. "Hey! You can't go up there!"
"Watch me." Kit didn't slacken her pace. "And if you don't want me invading the wrong room, maybe you should tell me exactly where I can find Mr. Cain."
The bartender was a giant of a man, with a barrel chest and arms like ham hocks. He was accustomed to dealing with drunken cowboys and gunslingers out to make a reputation for themselves, but he was helpless in the face of a woman who was so obviously a lady. "Last room on the left," he mumbled. "And there's gonna be hell to pay."
"Thank you." Kit climbed the stairs like a queen, shoulders back and head held high. She hoped none of the men watching could guess just how frightened she was.
The woman's name was Ernestine Agnes Jones, but to the men at the Yellow Rose, she was simply Red River Ruby. Like most people who had come West, Ruby had buried her past along with her name and never once looked back.
Despite powders, creams, and carefully rouged lips, Ruby looked older than her twenty-eight years. She'd lived hard, and it showed. Still, she was an attractive woman with rich chestnut hair and breasts like pillows. Until recently, little had come easy for her, but all that had changed with the convenient death of her last lover. Now she found herself the owner of the Yellow Rose and the most sought-after woman in San Carlos—sought after, that is, by every man except the one she wanted for herself.
She pouted as she looked across the bedroom at him. He was tucking a linen shirt into a pair of black broadcloth trousers that fit him just closely enough to renew her determination. "But you said you'd take me for a ride in my new buggy. Why not today?"
"I have things to do, Ruby," he said curtly.
She leaned slightly forward so that the neck of her red, ruffled dressing gown fell farther open, but he didn't seem to notice. "Anybody would think you was the boss around here instead of me. What do you have to do that's so important it can't wait?"
When he didn't answer her, she decided not to press him. She'd done that once before, and she wouldn't make that mistake again. Instead, as she walked around the bed toward him, she wished she could break the unwritten rule of the West and ask about his past.
She suspected there was a price on his head. That would account for the air of danger that was as much a part of him as the set of his jaw. He was as good with his fists as he was with a gun, and the hard, empty look in his eyes gave her a chill just looking at them. However, he could read, and that didn't fit with being a man on the run.
One thing for sure, he wasn't a womanizer. He didn't seem to notice that there wasn't a woman in San Carlos who wouldn't lift her petticoats for him if she got the chance. Ruby had been trying to get into his bed ever since she'd hired him to help her run the Yellow Rose. So far, she hadn't been successful, but he was about the handsomest man she'd ever seen, and she wasn't going to give up yet.
She stopped in front of him and put one hand over his belt buckle and another against his chest. She ignored the knock at the door to slip her fingers inside his shirt. "I could be real nice to you if you'd give me the chance."
She wasn't aware that the door had opened until he lifted his head and looked past her. Impatiently she turned to see who'd interrupted them.
The pain hit Kit in a wave. She saw the scene before her in separate pieces—a gaudy, red, ruffled dressing gown, large white breasts, a brightly painted mouth open in indignation. And then she saw nothing but her husband.
He looked years older than she remembered. His features were thinner and harder, with deep creases at the corners of his eyes and near his mouth. His hair was longer, hanging well over the back of his collar. He looked like an outlaw. Was this the way he'd been during the war? Watchful and wary, like a piece of wire drawn so taut it was ready to snap?
Something raw contorted his features as he saw her, and then his face closed like a locked door.
The woman rounded on her. "Who the hell do you think you are, bargin' in like this? If you come here lookin' for a job, you can just drag your tail downstairs and wait till I get to you."
Kit welcomed the anger that rushed through her. She pushed up the veil of her hat with one hand and shoved the door back on its hinges with the other. "You're the one who needs to go downstairs. I have private business with Mr. Cain."
Ruby's eyelids narrowed. "
I
know your type. High-class girl who comes West and thinks the world owes her a livin'. Well, this is my place, and there ain't no lade-da lady gonna tell me what to do. You can put on airs back in Virginny or Kentucky or wherever you come from, but not in the Yellow Rose."
"Get out of here," Kit said in a low voice.
Ruby tightened the sash of her dressing gown and moved forward menacingly. "I'm gonna do you a favor, sister, and teach you right off that things are different here in Texas."
Cain spoke quietly from across the room. "My best piece of advice, Ruby—don't tangle with her."
Ruby gave a contemptuous snort, took another step forward, and found herself looking down the barrel of a snub-nosed pistol.
"Get out of here," Kit said quietly. "And close the door behind you."
Ruby gaped at the pistol and then back at Cain.
He shrugged. "Go on."
With a last assessing glance toward the lady with the pistol, Ruby hurried from the room and slammed the door.
Now that they were finally alone, Kit couldn't remember a word of the speech she'd rehearsed so carefully. She realized she was still holding the pistol and that it was pointed at Cain. Swiftly she shoved it back into her reticule. "It wasn't loaded."
"Thank God for small favors."
She'd imagined their reunion a hundred times, but she'd never imagined this cold-eyed stranger fresh from another woman's arms.
"What are you doing here?" he finally asked.
"Looking for you."
"I see. Well, you've found me. What do you want?"
If only he'd move, maybe she could find the words she needed to say, but he stood stiffly in place, looking as if her simple presence was inconveniencing him.
Suddenly it was all too much—the grueling journey, the horrible uncertainty, and now this—finding him with another woman. She fumbled inside her reticule and drew out a thick envelope. "I wanted to bring you this." She put it on the table next to the door, then turned and fled.
The hallway seemed to go on forever, and so did the stairs. She tripped halfway down and barely managed to catch herself before she fell. The men at the bar craned their necks to watch her. Ruby stood at the bottom of the stairs, still wearing her red dressing gown. Kit brushed past her and made her way toward the swinging doors of the saloon.
She'd nearly reached them when she heard him behind her. Hands clasped her shoulders and spun her around. Her feet left the ground as Cain swept her up into his arms. Holding her against his chest, he carried her back through the saloon.
He took the stairs two at a time. When he reached his room, he kicked the door open with his foot and then closed it the same way.
At first he didn't seem to know what to do with her; then he dumped her on the bed. For a moment he stared at her, his expression still inscrutable. Then he crossed the room and picked up the envelope she'd left for him.
She lay quietly as he read it.
He glanced through the pages once, very quickly, and then went back to the beginning and read them through more carefully. Finally he gazed over at her, shaking his head. "I don't believe you did this. Why, Kit?"
"I had to."
He looked at her sharply. "Were you forced to?"
"Nobody could force me to do that."
"Then why?"
She sat up on the edge of the bed. "It was the only way I could think of."
"What do you mean by that? The only way to do what?"
When she didn't immediately answer him, he threw down the papers and came toward her. "Kit! Why did you sell Risen Glory?"
She stared down at her hands, too numb to speak.
He thrust his fingers through his hair, and he seemed to be talking as much to himself as to her. "I can't believe you sold that plantation. Risen Glory meant everything to you. And for ten dollars an acre. That's only a fraction of what it's worth."
"I wanted to get rid of it quickly, and I found the right buyer. I had the money deposited in your account in Charleston."
Cain was stunned. "My account?"
"It was your plantation. Your money put Risen Glory back on its feet again."
He said nothing. The silence stretched between them until she thought she would scream if it weren't filled.
"You'd like the man who bought it," she finally said.
"Why, Kit? Tell me why."
Was she imagining it, or could she detect a slight thawing in his voice? She thought of Ruby pressed up against him. How many other women had there been since he'd left her? So much for all her dreams. She'd look like a fool when she explained it to him, but her pride no longer mattered. There'd be no more lies from her, spoken or unspoken, only the truth.
She lifted her head, fighting the lump forming in her throat. He stood in the shadows of the room. She was glad she didn't have to see his face while she talked.
"When you left me," she said slowly, "I thought my life was over. I felt so much anger, first at you and then at myself. It wasn't until you were gone that I realized how much I loved you. I'd loved you for a long time, but I wouldn't admit it, so I hid it away under other feelings. I wanted to come to you right away, but that wasn't—it wasn't practical. Besides, I've acted impulsively too often, and I needed to be sure about what I was doing. And I wanted to make certain that when I did find you, when I did tell you I loved you, you'd believe me."
"So you decided to sell Risen Glory." His voice was thick.
Kit's eyes filled with tears. "It was going to be the proof of my love. I was going to wave it under your nose like a banner. Look what I did for you! But when I finally sold it, I discovered that Risen Glory was only a piece of land. It wasn't a man who could hold you and talk to you and make a life with you." Her voice broke, and she rose to her feet to try to cover her weakness. "Then I did something very foolish. When you plan things in your head, they sometimes work out better than they do in real life."
"What?"
"I gave Sophronia my trust fund."
There was a soft, startled exclamation from the shadows of the room, but she barely heard it. Her words were coming in short, choppy bursts. "I wanted to get rid of everything so you'd feel responsible for me. It was an insurance policy in case you told me you didn't want me. I could look at you and say that whether you wanted me or not, you'd have to take me because I didn't have anyplace to go. But I'm not that helpless. I'd never stay with you because you felt responsible for me. That would be worse than being apart."
"And was it so horrible being apart from me?"
She lifted her head at the unmistakable tenderness in his voice.