McKettrick's Choice - Linda Lael Miller [121]
Frank threw back his head and gave another hoot of laughter. “She’s got you riled,” he told Holt, when he’d settled down again. “That’s a bad sign, amigo. A very bad sign.”
Holt stood in the stirrups, and not because he needed to stretch his legs. “If your ribs weren’t cracked already, Frank,” he said, “I believe I’d drag you through the sagebrush a ways myself.”
Frank just smiled.
“He wants her,” the Captain said.
Holt scowled. “I’ve heard about enough out of you two,” he said.
“You haven’t heard the half of it,” said the Captain, and his mustache twitched. “Has he, Frank?”
LORELEI TOOK ONE BATH, then had the water emptied out and the tub filled again, so she could take a second. After that, she put on a white cotton dress, which Melina had borrowed from the mistress of the inn, and sat alone in the inn’s small garden, combing the tangles out of her freshly washed hair. She was winding it into a single thick plait when Melina appeared with a bowl of fruit, and sat down beside her on the stone bench.
“It’s lovely here, isn’t it?” Melina said, with a little sigh. “If it wasn’t for Gabe, I think I’d stay.”
Lorelei helped herself to a fig. The sweetness of it made her close her eyes and nearly swoon. “Don’t say anything about leaving,” she said dreamily. “I’m pretending we won’t have to drive those blasted cattle straight through Indian country and deal with Mr. Templeton when we get there.”
Melina laughed softly. “I didn’t think you ever pretended anything, Lorelei,” she said, “for all you claim you’ve been play-acting all your life.”
Lorelei opened her eyes, because all of a sudden Holt’s image had taken shape in her mind. “Well,” she said, taking another bite of the fig, “I do. When I’m riding that cussed mule, I pretend I’m in a fancy surrey instead, wearing a ruffled dress and carrying a parasol. When I have to sleep on the ground, I make believe I’m at home, in my own bed.” Tears gathered in her throat, thick and unexpected. Her comfortable life in San Antonio was over for good, and even though she wouldn’t have gone back to it for anything, that didn’t stop her from mourning the good parts.
Clean, crisp sheets.
A wardrobe full of pretty clothes.
More books than she could read in a thousand years.
Melina took her free hand, squeezed it.
Lorelei swallowed hard, and blinked. “I wish I knew if Raul and Angelina were all right,” she said, very quietly.
Melina let go of her hand. “What about your father?” she asked gently. “Do you think about him?”
Lorelei nodded. “Yes,” she said.
“He probably misses you.”
“No,” Lorelei said, and she was as sure of that as anything in the world. She knew the judge. She’d stepped over the line, and as far as he was concerned, she was as dead as William. The difference was, he wouldn’t grieve for her. “If I ever have a daughter,” she told Melina, listening to the distant bellowing of Holt McKettrick’s cattle, “I’m going to love her as much as any son.”
Melina didn’t answer, maybe because she knew Lorelei hadn’t intended to say what she had. She’d been thinking out loud, that was all.
Lorelei finished the fig and took another one. She was wildly hungry, now that she’d washed off at least two pounds of trail dirt. Once she’d appeased her stomach, she meant to shut herself in her room, strip to her camisole and bloomers and stretch out on her bed. She would sleep and sleep, and sleep some more, until it was time to saddle Seesaw and start back to San Antonio.
Unless…
Melina peered at her. “What’s the matter, Lorelei?”
Lorelei blinked, sitting up very straight, the fig forgotten in her hand. Holt wouldn’t actually come to her room that night. He’d been tormenting her, that was all.
But suppose, when everyone else was asleep, he did knock at her door, and the moon was high and the inn was quiet?
Well, she decided, he’d find the door latched against him, that’s what.
Yes, she meant to lock it.
She almost certainly did.
FRANK AND THE CAPTAIN were downstairs, playing poker with two federales and a vaquero. John had turned in hours ago, directly after