Rafe's Redemption Read online

  The surrounding hills gaped with abandoned tunnels, dark open holes like a man missing teeth, pitiful reminders of riches never found. Smoke hung low in the air, mixing with the icy rain. Only three buildings had light in the windows, the rest loomed in rows of eerie, vacant silence, a gloomy welcome after twelve hours on horseback.

  “What happened to everything?” Maggie whispered.

  “Cecil said this was a mining town before the war.

  Back then, every business was open and wagon-loads of men arrived every day.”

  “Where did they all go?”

  “The mines went bust. Just a few men remain.” He pointed to the lit buildings as they passed. “Most drink what’s left of their lives away.”

  The mud sucked Moses’ feet with each step, and laughter exploded from the Lucky Nugget saloon. Tinny piano music pierced the night, made worse by a female voice screeching “Oh, Susanna.” Maggie tensed in Rafe’s arms, her neck craned toward the light and noise.

  “Don’t worry. I’ll protect you,” he promised as they trudged to the corner livery.

  He stopped, then jumped to the boardwalk and pounded on the door.

  “I’m comin’. Stop your damned knockin’.” A tiny, gray-haired woman stuck her head out and frowned.

  “What?”

  He stepped back. The odor emanating from the barn wasn’t just equine. The old gal could rival Skinner Joe for offensive. The dung-splattered britches might be explained by her work, but the stains on her shirt were ground-in filth, layer over layer of various colors and textures.

  “Got room for one more horse, er, ma’am?” Rafe wasn’t too sure that title would apply.

  She cocked her head and scratched her greasy hair with a fork. “You got a dollar?”

  “Yes.” Rafe pulled the money from his pocket.

  “Then I got room. Name’s Myrna.” She snatched the coin, then winked one bloodshot eye, and heaved the big door open wide.

  He sucked one last fresh breath, then led Moses inside the barn so Maggie could dismount. She teetered down from the stirrup and gave a sickly smile, no doubt getting the full effect of the odor as the old woman meandered close.

  Rafe stripped the tack and saddle from the animal, whispering an apology for the condition of the stall. If it wasn’t snowing, he’d leave Moses outside.

  “That’n sure is a nice piece of flesh you got there,” Myrna pronounced. “Don’t see many likes him ‘round here.”

  Rafe frowned. While Moses was a fine horse, the stable was full of fine horses. Was she addled? He turned, and his face burned in embarrassment. She spoke to Maggie and stared at him.

  Good Lord! She didn’t mean Moses.

  “I used to have a man what looked like him.” Myrna cackled, then winked again. “He was good in bed, too. Is your man?”

  Maggie’s eyes rounded like dinner plates. “I—I—” Rafe grabbed the saddlebags in one hand, Maggie with the other, then hurtled for the door.

  “His name is Moses. I’ll—no, we—we will be back for him at dawn,” he shouted over his shoulder, then pulled Maggie outside and onto the boardwalk.

  He looked back, feeling the same relief as when he’d outmaneuvered a Confederate patrol. Maggie’s gaze landed on him, and her eyes twinkled with laughter.

  “That was not funny,” he growled.

  “I must disagree.” She giggled. “I saw you take on a whole town of violent men, but one amorous old woman makes you tuck tail and run.”

  “Maggie,” he warned, but she continued to shake with laughter.

  A warmth stole through him. He’d never seen her laugh. Her eyes danced with merriment, and the husky sound coming from her throat was pure erotic. His damn cock hardened at the sound, stretching his britches and filling his mind with lusty images of taking Maggie to the hotel, stripping her naked, then tying her to the bed before burying his face in her pussy.

  Would she laugh like that if he kissed every inch of her naked body, tickled her soft thighs with his whiskers?

  “I promise I’ll protect you.”

  Her words snapped the picture from his mind, reminding him of the very promise he’d made to her.

  “What?”

  She nodded toward the livery and his ardent admirer.

  “I won’t let her get you in the morning when we retrieve Moses.”

  He scoffed. “Let’s just secure a couple of rooms at the hotel.”

  She nodded and rifled through her burlap sack. “I have money left from the necklace.”

  Rafe stopped short. “I don’t need it.” A woman was not going to pay his way. He might not have a fortune since being disowned, but he damn well didn’t want charity.

  He stalked down the boardwalk, cursing his stepfather. War was war, and while Rafe didn’t like killing, he would make the same decision again if pressed.

  Maggie puffed misty air into the sky as she hurried to catch up, and he realized he was leaving her behind. He slowed his steps, and she scuttled close as they passed the saloon, her eyes darting to the frost-covered window.

  “Don’t worry.” He took her hand in his. “Everything will be fine.”

  She nodded but held tight to his hand.

  They slipped inside a two-story building marked the Mother Lode Hotel. Smoke and raucous voices floated through an open archway from the saloon. Damn it. The buildings were connected. Maggie sucked in a loud gasp, her grip crushing his fingers.

  What had he gotten them in to?

  He glanced into the bar room, and a foreboding shiver crawled up his spine.

  The Missouri 5th Cavalry lined the bar and surrounded the poker tables.

  Chapter Five

  “Capt’n McBride?”

  Maggie watched Rafe hang the saddlebag over his shoulder and slip his hand to the butt of his pistol. His knuckles turned white, his body stiff, tense, like a man ready to battle the devil. He turned a slow circle toward the man clomping down the stairs as if expecting the devil himself.

  “It is you.” The red-haired soldier loped across the scuffed floor. “I never imagined seeing you here.”

  “Private Richards.” Rafe’s voice held a hollow, sick sound.

  His posture eased, but she noted he was slow to offer his hand to the young man. Who was the soldier, and why was Rafe so cautious?

  It’s none of my business. He doesn’t want my help or my concern.

  She sidled closer to the fireplace, as far away from the saloon and the men as she could get without going back outside. The sharp smell of liquor and heavy cigar smoke fogged into the hotel lobby, along with barks of lecherous laughter. The tattered gold drapery did nothing to close off the sights or sounds, too familiar after what happened in Cougar Creek.

  “Is this your missus?” Private Richards moved closer, eyes wide with curiosity.

  Maggie choked. “Oh, I’m—”

  Rafe bolted beside her and squeezed her hand, then turned to the soldier. “Yes. We’re just headed to Fort Union.” He shot her a look that begged her not to argue.

  “Pleasure meeting you, ma’am.”

  Maggie let her gaze slide from Rafe to the private. A thousand questions skated through her mind, but she pasted a smile on her face. “Likewise.”

  “Capt’n, we just come from Fort Union. That damn pass—beggin’ your pardon, ma’am,” he blushed, “that pass was near snowed shut. You’d best hurry if you want to make it.”

  “We’re only staying one night. We’ll make it.” Rafe’s voice rang with determination.

  “Yes, sir.” The private nodded. “We’re waiting to meet up with 111th. They’re riding up from Fort Craig—

  outta New Mexico. Then we’re all headed west. Gonna kill us some Indians.” Richards pointed his finger at an imaginary figure and pulled the trigger, then grinned as if she’d be impressed.

  Maggie’s heart pounded in her ears. “Excuse me, Private, but I thought you were only supposed to escort them to the reservation.”

  Rafe squeezed her hand agai
n. Hard.

  Richards’ face colored to match his hair. “Yeah, well…”

  “I’m sure former Captain McBride is familiar with procedure.” A short, stocky man strolled from the bar room. Silver threaded his hair and gold adorned his uniform. “I’m also sure he doesn’t agree.” Maggie watched Rafe tense at the voice. He swiveled, his brows knitting.

  “Major Douglas.” His tight greeting sounded forced.

  He tugged Maggie closer. “I thought you would have retired after the war.”

  “Hoped, you mean.” The man cracked an evil grin.

  “No, more than just the rebel South needs to be taught the government’s rules.” He gnawed a dark cigar stub from one side of his mouth to the other, his cold gaze narrowed on Maggie. “Introduce me to your woman, McBride.” He laid a stubby-fingered hand on his gun and pulled it free of the holster. “Or is she your squaw?” He motioned with the barrel. “Richards, pull her hat off so I can get a better look. We may have our first capture right here.”

  What? Fear slithered down her spine.

  Rafe wrapped his arm around her shoulders, his thunderous glare withering the private in his tracks.

  “Don’t touch her.” He turned. “Maggie,” his rough finger tilted her chin, “remove your hat, sweetheart. Let the major see you.”

  She nodded, a surreal tornado of emotions whirling inside her so strong, she had to lean against Rafe. Had she survived the auction and frostbite to be shot as an Indian?

  Her hands trembled, but she uncovered her head and faced the major.

  The man peered into her face, then lowered his gun and huffed. “Blue eyes. Well, the army can’t be too sure.

  Especially when you’re dressed as you are and in the company of a known en em y sympathizer.” His gaze raked Maggie, but the hateful words were thrown at Rafe.

  He stiffened at the veiled insult, his jaw gritting in anger. The major was baiting him, provoking a fight, one Rafe couldn’t win. There were twenty armed men in the next room.

  A rage, the likes of which she’d only felt toward Michael, boiled over at the snide commander and wiped away her fear. Rafe had more integrity, more honor, more kindness, than Major Douglas would ever possess.

  Men like Rafe were rare and should be respected, not ridiculed.

  She fisted her hands and stepped between the men.

  “Sympathy for our fellow man is a quality trait, Major, one I most admire in my husband. Now, if you’ll excuse us, I find I have a headache.” She clutched Rafe’s arm.

  “Can we take a room, please?”

  She tugged his hand until his gaze met hers. He nodded, then led her to the clerk’s desk.

  “We need two—” His gaze enveloped her, then darted to the smug major. “Uh, one room. A way from the soldiers.”

  The balding man squinted through smudged half-glasses. “Only got one left,” he sputtered around a large cud of tobacco. “But you’ll have to clean it yourself. I’m plum tuckered out. Damnedest thing I ever seen. Haven’t had to use the upper floor for years, now I’m full up. It’s the—”

  “How much?” Rafe interrupted.

  “Hmm? Oh, three dollars.”

  Maggie dug in the burlap sack again, fished out a gold coin and pressed it in Rafe’s hand.

  “No,” he growled out the side of his mouth, then slapped his own coin down on the cluttered wooden desk. “What room number?”

  “Nine. Upstairs.” The man unhooked a rusty key from a peg, then pulled a lantern from beneath the desk and lit the wick. “You’ll need this, but there should be firewood.”

  “Does that saloon serve food?”

  The man nodded. “Soup and cornbread tonight.”

  “Have some sent to us.” Rafe added another coin, then grabbed the key and lamp.

  He pressed his other hand to Maggie’s back and ushered her toward the stairwell.

  “Oh, McBride?” Major Douglas called. “I’ll make sure and mention you next time we run across Simon Pierson.

  He’s anxious to settle up.”

  “You do that,” Rafe muttered, as he quickened his pace and tugged her upstairs.

  His quick strides ate up the long hallway. A few of the numbered doors stood ajar, offering a intimate view of soldiers in various states of undress. Maggie dropped her gaze to the stained wool carpet as heat crawled up her neck.

  “Come visit me later, beautiful,” a soldier called to her, jerking his skinny penis as one would a cow’s udder.

  Maggie increased her steps, cringed at the mocking laughter that echoed after her.

  Rafe stopped cold, then narrowed his eyes, obviously searching for the owner of the remark.

  “It doesn’t matter.” She grabbed his hand and tugged. “Let’s get some rest.”

  He stood rooted to the floor and glared from door to door.

  “Please.” She clutched his fingers. Chills ran down her spine. His anger already boiled from the major’s words. She wasn’t sure they could make it to the room before he exploded. “Please.”

  Rafe gave once last dark scowl, then stalked down the hall and shoved the key into the lock. She plastered herself against his back and pushed him through the door before he decided to turn around and fight.

  They stumbled into the room, and she inhaled a dank, musty odor. A n inch of grit coated the furniture and floors. Red floral wallpaper peeled from the wall and gold-tasseled curtains covered the window. Her gaze flicked over the rose-colored settee, to the matching spread covering the brass bed, then to the painting above. A naked woman!

  What kind of hotel was this? A nd what was she doing in that painting? Maggie stepped closer. The woman’s leg was propped on a pillow, her hand between her legs, her head thrown back as if she were…Good God. She had her finger inserted into her cunny. Maggie squinted. The woman looked to be in ecstasy, fingering herself, plucking at her breast.

  Liquid dampened Maggie’s pants and a delicious shiver hardened her nipples. What would it feel like to do that? To have Rafe’s fingers buried deep inside her while he sucked her breasts…

  He slammed the lantern onto a carved table, snapping her attention back to him. “Don’t interfere like that again. Ever.” He flung the saddlebags onto the bed, puffing a cloud into the air.

  “I wasn’t interfering.” She raised her chin. “I was helping.”

  “I don’t need your help.” He strode to the window and yanked the drapes closed. “I need you to do as you’re told.”

  Her temper sparked. He wasn’t her keeper—or her father.

  “Stop ordering me around!” The words were out before she could stop them, but once they were, a bold confidence spread through her. “I can do as I please.

  A nd you do need my help. You’re just too stubborn to admit it.”

  Rafe shot her a narrowed glance, then pushed past and stomped to the fireplace.

  She glared at his back. Did he think she’d seethe in silence? He should know better. “Mr. McBride, there are at least a dozen men on this floor and twenty more downstairs. No man wins against those odds. You would have been hurt.”

  He kicked at the ash-covered grate. “I wasn’t the one who would have been hurt,” he said through a clenched jaw, then sidestepped her and grabbed some wood.

  “They would.”

  She exhaled and tried a different approach. “But I don’t want you to fight because of me.”

  “I can fight for any damn reason I want,” he growled over his shoulder.

  She shook her head at his petulant words and studied his rigid frame as he yanked more logs from an old whiskey crate full of wood, then rammed them into the fireplace. Tension rolled off him, and he broke two Lucifer sticks before finally catching a flame.

  A ll this anger couldn’t be over a crude remark, or because she hurried him down the hallway. No, it was something else. Think. Be the intelligent woman he called you.

  When had his demeanor changed?

  When he saw the cavalrymen, especially Major Douglas. She repla
yed the man’s words. What had he m e a n t enemy sympathizer? A nd who was Simon Pierson?

  Rafe stood and stalked toward the door. “There’s water in the pitcher. I’ll step out so you can wash. Don’t leave the room.”

  “Wait.” Maggie sucked a deep breath. No doubt he headed downstairs to start a fight. “Why does the major upset you?”

  Her question stiffened his back. His hand gripped the doorknob until his knuckles turned white. “The major and I have some differences. That’s all.”

  “From the war?”

  Rafe turned, then blew a long sigh. “Maggie, I don’t want to talk about the war.”

  “Then what about the man who’s looking for you? Is he your friend?”

  Hatred flared in Rafe’s eyes. “He’s no one important.” She didn’t believe that for a minute. “Something else you don’t want to talk about.”

  “That’s right.”

  Rude or not, it was time to be direct. “A re you in some kind of trouble, Mr. McBride?”

  He stiffened all over again. “Don’t you think you’d better concentrate on your own problem?”

  “But you’re helping me with that. I only want to return the favor.”

  “A s I said, I don’t need your help.”

  Uh! He was the most stubborn man ever born.

  Rafe pulled open the door. “I’ll be back in a little while.”

  “Wait. There’s something else we have to talk about.” She stepped forward and reached for his arm.

  His expression stopped her cold. “No. There’s not,” he insisted.

  The door slammed before she could retort.

  O o h ! She spun around the room, longing for something to throw. Preferably at his head. His habit of walking out of the room during a conversation irritated her to physical violence. They had to talk. Hadn’t he heard Private Richards? The cavalry was riding west, straight for Cecil and Little Owl.

  Cecil would die before he let them take me. Little Owl’s words ripped through Maggie and collided with the image of the private pulling a trigger. Shudders rippled down her spine. If the cavalry found them, Cecil would be killed, Little Owl left with the soldiers. A lone.

  Pregnant.