She grinned. “Or maybe they think you’ve become a—” He glanced at her so sharply she didn’t finish, admitting instead, “Okay, bad joke. Besides, the railroads would go out of business if you started robbing—” His look turned so dark she flinched this time. “I’ll just shut up now.”
She was surprised to hear him request that hot water be delivered to his room, but didn’t comment on it. Talking to him was actually more aggravating than not talking to him. And she’d been doing far too much of that. She supposed it was nervous chatter. He did make her a little nervous, but only because she couldn’t figure him out. With most folks, you had plenty of warning about what they might do. With Degan Grant, you just got surprised.
But on the way up to his room she began to wonder about that hot water. Was he was going to have a bath before delivering her to jail? That would definitely be odd. Or was he that fastidious? Actually, as polished as his appearance was, she wouldn’t be surprised if he was the sort who had to have a bath every day no matter what, and he’d probably missed a day or two while searching for her in the hills. So he might just feel he couldn’t wait another minute to get cleaned up. She wished he’d said so, so she could’ve laughed at him.
She used to be like that—once upon a time. Now she didn’t have that luxury and had gotten used to the grime. But as they neared his room on the second floor, she didn’t feel like laughing. She was getting quite nervous. Was he going to strip down in front of her? What if he ordered her to scrub his back? That would mean she’d have to put her hands on that hard, strong, strapping body of his! She couldn’t, wouldn’t. She’d been disconcerted enough when he’d slid her down his body at the restaurant. What could he be thinking, bathing with her in the room?
Max froze as he opened the door. Now would be the time to run, but as if he’d read her mind, he put his hand on her back and gave her a little push inside. The room was nice, but then it was one of the biggest hotels Max had ever seen, so that wasn’t surprising. A large bed with a beautiful burgundy brocade cover, two stuffed chairs in a dark rose material with a low table between them, a small desk, a large wardrobe, and a soft carpet underfoot. If his valise weren’t already in the room, she would have thought he hadn’t been in it until now, it was so neat and clean. She set her saddlebags down and went over to one of the two windows. They both faced the street, with no porch roof below them for her to hop out on. Damn.
Turning around, she watched Degan stripping the bed of what had appeared to be clean bedding. He crossed the room to drop the whole bundle in the hall outside his door. She raised a brow at him when he turned back around, but he wasn’t interested in giving her an explanation. He did leave the door open though. If he would just move farther into the room, she could make a mad dash for it. . . .
Then the water arrived, four buckets carried by two young men, who emptied them in the tub behind a screen in the corner. That was fast, Max thought. But they weren’t done. A few minutes later, they were back with another four buckets. She figured the water source had to be closer than downstairs. They left one bucket full for rinsing, then asked Degan if he needed anything else. He shook his head and closed the door after them before giving her his full attention.
“Get undressed.”
“I don’t think so.” She crossed her arms over her chest.
“I wasn’t giving you a choice.”
Her heart began to pound in alarm as he stepped away from the door. He wanted her to bathe before he bedded her! That’s why he’d stripped off the covers, so there’d be no evidence on the bed after he . . .
She made a desperate dash to the door only to feel his arm lock around her waist before she could reach it. She twisted around and started punching him, but fell back on the bed when he gave her a light push toward it.
“If you don’t take your clothes off, I’ll help you take them off, but one way or another, they’re coming off.”
Blue eyes wide, she watched him lock the door, shrug out of his jacket, and lay it neatly over a chair, then start walking toward the bed.
Chapter Thirteen
MAX ONLY HAD MOMENTS to decide her fate—if she could stop panicking long enough to think. Degan obviously wanted her, so why couldn’t she turn this to her advantage and make a deal with him, her virginity for her freedom? She scrambled over the bed to stand on the other side to give herself a few more seconds. Could she do it without his realizing how scared she was? She had to at least try.
She took a deep breath. “I can undress myself,” she said with a flirtatious smile as she cocked her hip and began unbuttoning her shirt.
He raised an eyebrow at her. “You’re going to try that again?”
Max froze and felt her cheeks turning red. She was so embarrassed she’d misinterpreted his intentions that she was actually speechless.
“The bath is for you,” he continued as if he hadn’t noticed how mortified she was. “You can get undressed behind the screen.”
All this over a bath she would love to have? But he had to have a reason and not the one she’d mistakenly presumed. “Why do you want me cleaned up? Are you afraid you won’t get the reward if you turn me in dirty?”
“Have you looked in a mirror?”
She knew how filthy she was, but she wasn’t going to blush again. She lifted her chin stubbornly. “I’m not bathing with you in the room.”
He started to come around the bed. She rolled across it again and ran for the screen in the corner. And gnashed her teeth when she heard him say, “Toss your clothes out here before you get in the tub.”
She yanked her boots off, leaned around the screen, and threw them at him. Only one struck him in that wide chest of his. But she caught the frown before she ducked behind the screen again.
“Maybe I need to check you for weapons again.”
“No! You don’t!”
She’d never undressed so fast, tossing each piece of clothing over the screen, even her drawers, socks, and belts. She wasn’t going to give him an excuse to come back here to check that she’d done as he’d ordered. It had been over a year since she’d splurged on a room to get a decent bath. She was not going to fight him anymore over this one when she would have thanked him for it if she didn’t hate him so much. Actually, she didn’t hate him at all, she just hated that he’d caught her and was going to be the death of her.
A short, narrow table was next to the little tub. It held towels and jars of creamy soap. No rough, homemade soap bars for this fine hotel. She opened one of the towels to see how big it was and snorted to herself. It was soft, but not even big enough to wrap around her.
She heard the door close and then the distinct sound of a key turning in the lock. She peeked around the screen. He’d actually left her alone in the room. But glancing around the room, she saw that he’d taken everything with him, their saddlebags, her clothes, even his valise, leaving her nothing but tiny towels to cover herself with. But more to the point, he’d left her nothing that she could use to make an improvised rope to aid her in escaping out the window. Now she knew why he’d removed perfectly clean bedding.
He’d taken every precaution, as if he’d done this before, yet he’d said he wasn’t a bounty hunter. He was just too damn smart, preparing for all possibilities. And she drew the line at running through town naked even if she could inch her way along the ledge to an open window. But then, she’d probably fall and die in the attempt, so she wasn’t going to try.
Instead, she got into the tub and sank down in it with a dreamy smile. At times when she’d been on the move weeks would go by before she found a decent watering hole to bathe in. There’d been a couple of ponds in the hills by her shack where she’d gotten water for her and her horse, but they weren’t secluded enough to bathe in, so she’d been riding over to the big lake to the east every few days to bathe and wash her clothes. But it wasn’t an ideal bathing experience, especially since she had to ride back to the shack dripping wet.
She scrubbed herself from top t
o bottom. She couldn’t even remember the last time she’d felt this clean. And her head! The soap that she toted around with her might get her and her clothes clean, but it irritated her scalp something fierce, so she’d stopped soaping her hair long ago. But merely dousing her head in water when she bathed didn’t leave her hair feeling clean. Not like this. Already it was mostly dry, and the slightest shake of her head had her hair floating around it. She even stood up to watch it float in the oval mirror above the shaving stand. And laughed.
She was feeling a little kindly toward Degan for this gift he’d given her. Just a little—okay, maybe just not annoyed with him for the moment, though she was still wary.
“Did you fall asleep in there?” Degan asked.
Hearing that and her saddlebags slide across the floor toward her brought her back to the hard facts of her situation, that it was time to go—to jail.
Max turned her head toward Degan’s voice. “No, I was just waiting for my clothes.” But when she saw that the bags hadn’t quite made it to her side of the screen, she realized he might try to fix that and quickly yelled, “I’ll get them!”
She stepped out of the tub, dried herself fast, and stuck just an arm around the screen to drag the bags back to her. Pulling out her only other set of clothes, she saw her chemise at the bottom of the bag. It was soft, finely made, and delicate, so she didn’t wear it often, but in case they confiscated her bag at the jail she wanted to have her best clothes on her.
“I forgot these,” she heard Degan say before Luella’s undergarments came flying over the screen. She just managed to catch them before they landed in the tub of water. She’d forgotten, too, that he’d grabbed more than the derringer out of her coat pocket. She put the bloomers on, but she was blushing because Degan had seen how silky they were, had even held them in his hands.
She finished dressing and stepped out of the bathing corner carrying her bags and a clean pair of socks. Degan’s eyes followed her. She didn’t have to look at him to feel it. The rest of her clothes had been laid on the stripped bed, her boots on the floor by it. She grabbed the boots and went over to a chair to put them on. She wasn’t sitting on that bed for any reason. Just the sight of it reminded her of what a fool she’d been to try seducing him again. The man was impervious to her charms. So be it. She’d rather escape anyway and thumb her nose at him—after she was gone.
Chapter Fourteen
“IT DOESN’T LOOK SO badly butchered now.”
Max blushed slightly. Degan’s remark about her hair proved he had been staring at her and still was. But she took a leaf from his book and didn’t reply.
She had deliberately kept her eyes off him as she crossed the room. She glanced his way now and saw him folding the screen and leaning it against the wall. She found that odd until he stopped in front of the shaving stand near the tub. His hair was wet, so apparently he’d bathed. But he hadn’t yet shaved. She realized he’d moved the screen so nothing would be blocking his view of the rest of the room—and her—while he finished grooming himself.
She casually walked to the door while he was busy in the corner. She had to check. When she tried to turn the doorknob and couldn’t, she sighed. He’d locked it again. She was sure he had seen what she had just done, but he didn’t remark on it.
She paced in the middle of the room briefly before she gave in to the urge and watched him shaving. The man really was a fine piece of work. But there was always a balance, wasn’t there, since no one was perfect. His balance was too handsome but too dangerous.
“I used to do that for my pa before he took off,” she volunteered. “He liked everything smooth ’cept for the mustache he favored. I’m pretty good at it. Want me to show you?”
His laugh was spontaneous, but so brief she wondered if she’d really heard it. Then she realized that it was his way of telling her what he thought of her getting that shaving razor anywhere near his throat. But she was more interested in his having laughed, even if it was just a scoffing laugh, when he obviously didn’t want to.
“Makes you uncomfortable to laugh, doesn’t it?” she speculated.
She didn’t expect an answer because he seemed to be concentrating on his shaving rather than on her, but she got one. “My profession prohibits emotion.”
“Because you kill people?” she guessed.
“There comes a point when you’re fast enough with a gun that you don’t have to kill. On the other hand, I’ve lost count of how many men I’ve had to wound, but they don’t usually die from it.”
“Then you’ve never killed anyone, even in self-defense?”
“I didn’t say that.”
He didn’t say any more about it, either. Of course he was a killer. It was written all over him. She quietly watched him for another minute. He was being particularly slow and methodical now about getting the stubble off his face, maybe because she was ruining his concentration. She smirked. She could have done it quicker for him and without a single nick.
“So what do you actually do, besides get in gunfights?”
“I take jobs where my particular skill is useful.”
“A hired gun? And you’ve never taken a job to kill someone?”
“That’s not a job, that’s murder.”
She raised a brow. “You actually draw the line? That’s good to know.”
No comment, so she let him finish what he was doing. She wanted to get some of that soap she liked so much before they vacated the room, so she rummaged through her bags, which were behind him by the tub, looking for her little leather pouch. When she found it, she emptied its contents into the tub.
Degan had turned around to look at her, probably because he didn’t trust her that close to his back. “What are you getting rid of?”
“Gold dust.” She grabbed one of the soap jars and carefully poured the creamy soap into the pouch. “I panned a little when I first came up this way.”
“You’d rather have soap than gold?”
“That dust ain’t likely to be worth much. This soap is more precious—to me.”
“Why didn’t you just take one of the jars?”
“That’d be stealing.”
“And taking the soap isn’t?”
“Course not. How would they know you didn’t use it all up on that big, strapping body of yours?”
“Perhaps because I’ve been using the bathing room down the hall and the attendant knows it.”
“Oh. Well, so they’ll charge you a few more pennies. What’s done is done.” She stuffed the little pouch back in her bag. But then she frowned. “Will they even let me have a bath in jail?”
He’d already turned back toward the oval mirror. “I have no idea. I’ve never had occasion to see the inside of a jail cell.”
Course he hadn’t. He’d probably shoot any sheriff who tried to arrest him. She moved away from him and headed straight for her coat. As long as he was currently distracted, it would be a good time to read her grandmother’s letter. She took the envelope out of her coat pocket and ripped it open. Tears sprang to her eyes when she saw her grandmother’s handwriting.
Dearest Max,
I’ve been so worried about you! I am overjoyed to hear from you and learn that you are well. I imagine these last twenty months have been even more of a hardship to you than they’ve been to me and Johnny. We miss you so much. I’ve been ailing. Please come home. Despite the tragedy that caused you to flee, I know you will be dealt with fairly if you just come home and explain—
Max’s heart sank. What did her grandmother mean she was “ailing”? And by “tragedy” did she mean Carl had died?
“There’s a satchel in my valise.” Degan’s words cut into her thoughts. “Get it and tell me if you know any of the men on the wanted posters in it.”
Sniffing back tears so Degan wouldn’t see them, Max stuffed the letter and the envelope back in her coat pocket. She’d finish reading it when she was alone in jail. She turned around and opened his valise. Removing the thin leathe
r satchel, she saw her Colt under it and picked it up, too.
“Mind if I wear this?” she asked over her shoulder, holding the gun up. “I feel off-balance without the weight of it on my right hip.”
“I do mind.”
“But you emptied it.”
“It’s still a heavy weapon.”
She made a face. Did he have to think of everything? She shoved it back in the valise and took the satchel over to the chair and opened it. She grabbed the stack of papers out of it and rifled through them.
After a moment she glanced his way again. “And why am I looking at these?”
“I need to bring in three of those outlaws before the marshal returns to Montana.”
“You planning on collecting us all before you turn us in? That’s fine by me.” She grinned.
No answer. Figured. She came to her own poster and read the page of notes attached to it. “Says here I had no schooling.” She scowled. “That’s a lie.”
“It’s probably just an assumption based on your atrocious diction.”
She raised a brow at him. “You know it don’t matter to me none if you don’t like the way I talk.”
“I’ve already figured that out.” His lips curved slightly. She couldn’t tell if it was a smile. Probably not. But she’d definitely heard some irony in his tone.
“It also says here I’m only fifteen. This information didn’t come from Texas. Your friend must’ve gotten it from one of the farmers near here that I traded with.”
“That’s possible since he knew you were in the area.”
She read aloud, “ ‘Max Dawson is more dangerous than he looks.’ Now that’s funny.”
“But accurate.” Degan rubbed the area on his chest that her boot had struck.