Between Love and Lies (5 page)

Feeling the need to put some distance between them, she hastened through the graves to a plain headstone with the words:
Margaret Sullivan. Loving mother, devoted wife.

Gone seven years now, her mother had died from a lung fever after they’d traveled from Virginia to Kansas. A journey her mother had made only after her husband forced her to put his need to escape his creditors ahead of her health. A wave of sorrow swept over Sadie—for being separated from her mother, for knowing she’d never be with her again. Not even in death.

Her soul was tainted. She’d be buried in the
other
cemetery—the one for the immoral, the outcasts who died violently with their boots on. If her life ended, her bones would reside in Boot Hill.

Death stalked her. Time was running out. This was the last time she could afford to visit her mother. Dropping to her knees by the grave, she removed the weeds and smoothed the dirt into a tidy swell. She hadn’t heard Noah follow her, but she knew he was beside her. The scent of soap and leather, infused with spring air and sweet grass, curled around her. The soulless oppression of Dodge seemed a thousand miles away.

Glancing up at him, she whispered, “She was worth a hundred of his kind.” Her shoulders slumped. Why had she told him that? Only friends shared such truths. And he was no friend of hers. Was she losing her mind as well as her health?

Brows drawn over unblinking eyes, he held her gaze. “The money I gave your father—what happened to it?”

Her chin went up and with it came a terse laugh. She clenched her teeth.
Don’t let him control you. Stop jumping at his every word and glance. Or he’ll have you swooning at his feet and revealing all your secrets.

Rounding up her jumbled emotions, she composed her face into what she hoped was an aloof expression. “Is that why you returned to Dodge? For your money? Well, it’s long gone. My father was a gambling man. Your money vanished in a week which is longer than I thought it’d last.”

He moved closer. “That’s not what I came for.”

She stared at him through narrowed eyes as she considered his reply. “You came with your precious Texan longhorns, pursuing the almighty dollar.”

“It’s not my herd this time. I’m here for another reason entirely.”

Her breath shot out in a huff. “Men. You talk in circles and bend your words to suit your purpose—and your conscience.” Overcome with frustration, she stood abruptly and then wished she hadn’t.

Stars burst behind her eyes, blinding her, making her sway. A large work-roughened hand supported her arm. When she gasped, the warmth of Noah’s touch retreated. She didn’t move again. Not until her vision cleared. When it did, she realized he was standing close, his worried face peering down into hers.

Slowly, carefully, he took a step back. “Are you…all right?”

Alone, the prospect of passing out hadn’t seemed so bad. Allowing this man to see such weakness was unbearable.

“Mr. Ballantyne, it makes no difference to me why you are here.” What was one more lie when she’d already told so many? She added a truth to steady herself as she looked him hard in the eye. “What bothers me most is that you are disrupting my life again.
Go home
.”

He matched her glare with one of his own. “No.”

She threw up her hands. She was better off sticking to lies. “Suit yourself. I really don’t care.” And if he wouldn’t leave, she would. Carefully, so as not to drain her remaining strength, she moved to step around him.

He moved too, blocking her way. “What happened? Why are you at the Northern Star?” The intensity in his expression stole her breath like a lover stole a kiss. Instead of disgust or disappointment, reactions she’d grown used to seeing on the faces of those who were informed that she was ill, she found interest.

Noah Ballantyne was a far greater danger than she’d first feared.

“Why are you working in a saloon?” he demanded.

Frustration churned inside her chest, threatening to boil over in an endless stream of caustic comments.
Leave me alone!
she cried silently before answering him with as little emotion as she could. “Because you put me there.”

The color drained from his face.

“Your herd trampled my garden, destroyed my fence, scattered my cattle. I managed to round up four of the seven, but a month later they began to stagger and drool, to run mad from the longhorn tick and their fever. I had no way to pay the bills, so the bank took back the farm.”

He shook his head. “I should’ve left you more money.”

“Why?” She surged forward, making him stumble away from her. “So the money would’ve lasted two weeks of drinking rather than one? The end would’ve been the same. We had nothing.” She bit back her laugh. “Or rather,
I
had nothing. Or so everyone in Dodge told me when I came begging for a job. But my father had something.” She paused, waiting for him to make the connection.

He stared at her blankly, blind to what so many couldn’t see. Or didn’t want to see.

“Do you know how many girls end up in a saloon because their families needed money?” she asked.

Every muscle in his body went rigid. “A father couldn’t—”

“My father could. He sold me to Madam Garrett.” She fixed her gaze on the graveyard. The markers blurred with her tears. She blinked them back. No good ever came from crying. “I’m told the madam’s money lasted him for a month of drinking…then his liver finally gave out and so did he.”

“Jesus, Sadie,” Noah growled and grabbed her arm, whether to steady her or himself she knew not.

She stared at his hand, befuddled once again by the gentleness of his hold. How very different from last night’s cowhand at the Star.

When he finally released her arm, her heart constricted with regret.

“Do not concern yourself with the details of my past, Mr. Ballantyne. That part of my life is over. It cannot be restored.” She marched down the slope toward her buggy.

Noah strode alongside her in silence. When they came to the buggy, he reached out to assist her, then stopped. She marshaled her flagging strength and climbed in. Flicking the reins across the palomino’s golden back, she set the buggy in motion, only to have Noah grab the bridle.

Her horse snorted and tossed her head. Noah stroked her mane, calming the skittish mare with his touch. A sudden desire to feel that strong but gentle hand holding her again overwhelmed her.

“You may be right about the past, but what about the future?” His question jarred her out of her daydream.

“I—have—no—future.” Her voice rose with each word until she was yelling.

“That’s not true,” he shouted back, then clamped his lips tight. After a long pause, he patted the mare’s neck again. “You must have dreams.”

She jerked back. Was her yearning written on her face for all to see?

“If you were free to leave Dodge—” his voice held a soothing note as well, “—where would you go?”

The question, as much as his tone, startled her. It was as if he’d opened a door and let in the fresh air she craved when she’d driven out to the graveyard. Her anger snuffed out as easily as a candle flame. But the more she pondered his question, the faster her mind spun. She stared at him, unable to speak.

Where would she go?

Since Edward’s death, she hadn’t thought of much beyond taking back what Gertie had stolen and then going somewhere—anywhere—far away. The woman had destroyed too many lives to go completely unpunished. To hope for more seemed greedy.

But she wanted to control her own destiny, to determine who she associated with and who she did not. The rest of her feelings were too complex to put into words and, even if she could, she wouldn’t share them with the man standing next to her. She was loath to confide in anyone, especially him. Everything had gone downhill since the moment he’d ridden into her life.

His hand slid along the mare’s neck toward her own clutching the reins. A hand toughened by work and the weather. A hand good with animals. A rancher’s hand.

“My farm,” she blurted as her gaze jumped to his face. “I’d go back to my farm.”

Her impossible request brought a pained look to his brow. She felt a similar pinch in hers. Unlike most of Dodge, this man didn’t have a heart of stone. But no matter how much he regretted what his cattle destroyed last year, he’d never hurt as deeply as she did.

The instant he released her horse, she urged the mare toward town.

She gritted her teeth when he appeared on his gray beside her. He might not be hardhearted but he was definitely bull-headed. Did he intend to shadow her all day?

The heat of her fever flared again. So did her desire for privacy. She craned her neck in search of the Star. He couldn’t follow her into her room upstairs. Not without paying and, in her condition, she had nothing he’d want to buy. Oddly, her bedroom was her one sanctuary. She craved the tiny room’s solitude more than ever.

The corridor of Dodge’s Front Street, crowded with livestock and wagons, thwarted her. Even those on foot experienced delays while weaving through the chaos. Her progress slowed to a crawl. Noah reined in his mount to match her pace.

Determined to ignore him, she fixed her gaze on the street ahead.

Crossing the fairway was the good Mrs. Dunne, who had refused her employment at the boarding house. Long in the face and round in the middle, Mrs. Dunne had informed Sadie she would be too much of a distraction in her establishment. Even though Mrs. Dunne could use help with the cooking and cleaning for her many guests, she said she wouldn’t hire a young, unmarried woman such as Sadie.

The portly well-dressed banker, George Fairfax, strolled along the boardwalk with the measured stride of a contented man. When Sadie had approached him searching for work, she’d surprised him with her mastery of reading and writing, and a natural inclination to summing. He’d still insisted a woman’s place was at home, with her husband, not in his bank. He wouldn’t hire her either.

Everyone she’d approached had refused to help, first when she’d inquired politely and again when she’d returned to beg. In the end, her efforts hadn’t mattered. It’d been an illusion to believe she controlled her own destiny.

Her father had put an end to her quest to find honest work when he sold her for eighty silver dollars. She recalled the dazzling orbs sliding through his fingers, shining so brightly they hurt her eyes. That was the last time she’d seen him, head bent, counting the coins to make sure he hadn’t been cheated.

She might not be able to trust anyone, but she couldn’t give up either. The heirlooms Gertie had pilfered—Sadie’s ticket out of Dodge—couldn’t stay hidden forever.

She stole a glance left, then right. Noah no longer rode beside her while down the street, the Northern Star’s faded green balcony beckoned. She exhaled a sigh of relief laced with an annoying amount of disappointment.

Be careful,
she warned herself.
You can’t afford to become dependent on Noah Ballantyne or anyone else.
With her attention set on the Star, she counted the strides it’d take the mare to reach the swinging half-doors.

The buggy lurched to a halt. She half expected to see Noah’s firm grip on her rein, trying to take control of her life again. She found a much paler and softer hand. Its owner was a slope-shouldered man dressed in a tailored jacket and paisley waistcoat. A lofty top hat gave him height, but the stiff band collar of his shirt did little for his receding chin.

Robert Wardell.

A chill snaked up her spine. Last autumn, Wardell had bid for her company and lost. The defeat hadn’t sat well with him. One of the richest men in town, he was accustomed to getting what he wanted. He’d wanted Sadie. But Edward, riding a wave of luck with the cards had more ready cash, so she’d been auctioned off to a gambler instead of a cattle baron.

Wardell had left town in a sour mood. Rumor had it he’d gone to Abilene or Wichita. Now he was back. And Edward was gone, dead and buried under six feet of Kansas clay, but not before he’d left his legacy, his mark. The assumption she had the French pox was her only salvation from Wardell and all the other men who visited the Star.

“Well, well, well,” Wardell drawled, his pale-blue eyes raking her. “If it isn’t the lovely, Miss Sadie. Feeling better today? On the road to recovery, I hope?”

The French pox wasn’t a death sentence. Doctor Rhodes said many things about the disease were still a mystery. Some people recovered and lived normal lives, as if they’d never been touched by the symptoms and stigma of the disease. Others weren’t so lucky. Their journey on earth came to a painful and horrific conclusion.

Too many in town were watching to see which direction her life would take.

When Gertie demanded a timeline, Doctor Rhodes said they might only have to wait a month, maybe less. If the doctor deemed her recovered, the madam would inform the entire town. Wardell would be the first one at her bedroom door.

She couldn’t allow that to happen. She also couldn’t continue taking the medicine if she valued her life. The day she defeated Gertie, she’d stop. Hopefully, that day would come soon.

She willed Wardell to release the mare and return to the veranda of the Great Western Hotel. A sideways glance revealed his entourage entrenched on the hotel’s elegant terrace, smoking cigars and observing their exchange with interest.