Abby's eyes had gone wide. A lady. She was under no illusions as to the type of "lady" he meant. Grady's cheeks were flame-red. So were hers. She scarcely heard the last of his words.
Instead she considered the information Grady had revealed. As she did, a burgeoning hope began to blossom inside her.
She laid a hand on Lucas's arm. "Lucas," she said slowly, "if this man—Kane—really was part of Stringer Sam's gang, do you think it's possible that he would know where the hideout is located?" She held her breath and waited.
"Indeed I do," he said grimly. "That's why I brought Grady in to see you."
'Then there's only one thing left to do." She turned to Grady. "Grady, would you go out to the barn and saddle Sonny for me?"
He jammed his hat on his head. "Sure thing, ma'am."
Her steps purposeful, she strode from the room. She was halfway up the stairs before Lucas's voice halted her.
"Miss Abby, where . .. what do you think you're doing?"
Abby paused, turned and looked down at him.
Another time, another place, and she might have laughed at his gaping astonishment.
She smiled faintly. "I think you know, Lucas."
His face had turned dark as a thundercloud. "Miss Abby, you can't. Why, it's crazy! The man's an outlaw! No doubt he's a killer just like Stringer Sam." He stopped and cursed silently. He'd known Miss Abby too darned long not to recognize the stubborn set of that pretty little chin.
Watching him, seeing the bleakness creep into his lined features, Abby felt her heart rend in two. Pa had been gone .. . what? Only a few hours.
She felt as if a lifetime had passed since then.
And yet there wasn't time to see that Pa had a decent burial—she would have to leave that to Dorothy and Lucas. There wasn't time to mourn him ... to say a last good-bye.
There wasn't even time to cry.
Lucas continued to stare up at her. "Miss Abby," he said finally, "you don't have to do this. Let me go instead."
A hot ache constricted her throat. Her heart brimmed with misery. "No, Lucas," she said, her voice low and choked. "I need you here at the ranch. Besides, I promised Pa. I made that promise, Lucas, and it's up to me to fulfill it. I know it's risky, but this may be the only way to save Dillon. This man Kane may be the only one who can save my brother's life." She drew a deep tremulous breath, her eyes full of quiet desperation. "I have to find him, Lucas. I have to find Kane."
Chapter 2
"Let's go upstairs," she whispered.
His lazy slouch against the bar was deceptive. Standing, he was a full six-foot-two inches of lean, spare flesh with the instincts of a predator. His hair was black as a crow's wing, but whether his coloring came from his mama or his papa, he had no idea ... because he'd never known either one. His mother was a drunk who'd left him on his own when he was just a kid; his father had never stayed around to begin with.
"Kane?" The voice came again, a sultry invitation close to his ear.
Soft feminine arms twined around his waist. Daisy draped herself against his back, thrilling to the intimate press of her stomach against his buttocks. She remembered splaying her hands against him last night, glorying in the way he tensed and flexed with each sinuous motion of his hips.
A smile of remembered satisfaction played over her full, rouged lips. Such a man, she recalled. More man than most.
Her fingers toyed with the thick dark strands of the hair that grew low on his nape. He hadn't been inclined to talk last night, but that was all right. And for all that those glittering silver eyes gleamed icy and cool, he was a superb lover, not at all selfish like most of her customers. Why, it seemed almost a sin to take his money!
And it wasn't the thought of his money that was making her burn inside again. Her hands fluttered over his chest. She rotated her hips and whispered his name huskily once again, hoping he would take the hint.
Kane released a long, pent-up sigh of frustration. He turned, trying to ease free of her cloying grip. Christ, she had hands like an octopus! When he would have stepped aside, she raised her head and kissed him. Her fingers plunged into his hair, shaping themselves to his scalp. Her lips clung—like a leech, he thought disgustedly. God, and she tasted like sour whiskey.
He finally managed to tear his mouth from hers. He stared at her, his vision blurred. All that registered was brassy red hair and a figure that had started to go to fat. His mind groped fuzzily for a name. Christ, was it him or was he drunker than he thought? Or had there simply been so many women—in so many towns—that they'd all begun to look alike?
Dolly! That was it, her name was Dolly.
"Dolly," he began.
The furrows on her brow deepened. "Daisy," she corrected with a pout that might have once been pretty. Now it was only pathetic. "Don't you remember, Kane? I'm Daisy."
When he said nothing, only continued to stare at her in a way that totally unnerved her, she eased back from his chest. "Kane?" For the first time a hint of uncertainty underscored his name. "Did I do something wrong?"
Wrong. The word roused a soul-deep bitterness. His jaw clenched so tight he thought it would crack. Here he was, back among humanity, such as it was, and he wasn't sure he belonged. He wasn't sure he was fit to belong. So who the hell was he to judge right or wrong?
Daisy started to step back. The movement reminded Kane of her presence. Some of the harshness left his features as his eyes met hers. She looked so anxious, a twinge of remorse cut through him. He had used her, he realized. He had sought forgetfulness in her arms and her body.
If only he could find forgiveness as easily.
"You didn't do anything wrong," he said softly. "But you're too much woman for an ornery old cuss like me, Daisy." He pressed a coin into her palm at the same time he pressed a fleeting kiss upon her lips. "Find yourself a better man than me for the evening, sweetheart."
He picked up his glass from the bar, turned and walked to a table in the corner... alone.
Hands on her hips, Daisy watched him disappear into the crowd. Lordy, but he's a strange one. She shrugged. With a flounce of her skirt, she twirled to the man on her left.
At the table, Kane wondered why the hell he was here. The ladies were getting to him. He was tired of their simpering and giggling. His head ached and the air was thick with smoke and the smell of stale whiskey. No one else seemed to notice. Everyone was rowdy and rambunctious and having a whale of a good time.
Yet the thought of his room upstairs held little appeal. The room was too small, the bed too empty ... and so was he.
He studied the glass in his hand, aware of a gnawing pain in his gut. The glass was chipped, the contents dark gold and faintly cloudy. With a brooding half-smile, he tipped the glass to his lips and drained it.
When he lowered it, his eyes were watering. For the first time, he understood why this stuff was called rotgut. He'd tasted some strong liquor in his time, but this was powerful enough to burn clear through a man's belly.
Maybe it wasn't the whiskey at all. Maybe it was guilt that forged that searing hole inside him.
But right now Kane didn't care. He didn't give a damn about much of anything these days, and hadn't for a long time. With a flick of his wrist, a tilt of his chin, he raised his glass high and signaled the bartender.
In the back of his mind, he wondered if he'd go to hell for what he had done—
Shit. Maybe he was already there.
For the second time that day, Grady crushed his hat in his hands. He glanced at the saloon. He wasn't sure about this. He wasn't sure at all.
"Miss Abby," he ventured, "you sure you want to do this?"
"I'll be fine, Grady." She squeezed his arm in silent thanks. "Tell Lucas and Dorothy to take care. I'll be back as soon as I can."