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  ‘‘Listen to me.’’ He stepped toward her.

  She moved back and met the wall behind her. The tremor inside her fanned out. Her legs went weak. She shook her head. ‘‘I can’t do this. Not again,’’ she whispered, more to herself than to him.

  ‘‘I’m not gonna do anything to you, ma’am. But I had to get you out of there. Those questions you asked drew attention. And that’s not something you wanna do around here.’’

  ‘‘But I thought . . .’’

  ‘‘I know what you thought. But I give you my word—I won’t lay a hand on you. Harsh or otherwise. You would’ve known I was tryin’ to help you if you’d just taken the drink. It’s sarsaparilla—a special bottle I keep under the counter. Comes in handy at times.’’

  She hiccupped a breath, still watching, not quite trusting.

  ‘‘The owner of this place spotted you. More than that, his man at the bar heard you asking about the girl. She was through here all right, about four months ago, I’d guess. They stayed awhile, then left.’’

  ‘‘They?’’ she asked, using the wall behind her for support. Relief spread warm through her arms and legs.

  ‘‘Two men were with her. They worked a deal out with the owner—I don’t know what it was. I only know that business was good for the next few days.’’

  Annabelle massaged the top of her head, her scalp still tingling. ‘‘Sorry about that,’’ he said, following her motions. ‘‘But the man who owns this place, and the men he works for, they don’t like bein’ questioned. Not about the business that goes on here, and especially not by some slip of a woman. No offense intended, ma’am.’’

  She huffed a laugh. ‘‘None taken.’’

  ‘‘A man came lookin’ for the girl while she was still around.’’ He shook his head. ‘‘He started asking questions and the men here worked him over somethin’ awful.’’

  Gallagher, Betsy’s man in Willow Springs, immediately came to mind. ‘‘Was he tall? Bearded, with a head full of dark hair?’’ At his nod, right or wrong, Annabelle felt satisfaction at knowing Gallagher had experienced some payback. ‘‘Thank you for your help, Mr. . . .’’

  ‘‘Probably best we don’t swap names, ma’am. I don’t know which way they headed when they left, only that they took the girl and set out in a hurry one mornin’. But if you do decide to keep lookin’ for her, be careful. Those men’ll think nothing of doin’ to you what they did to that fella. Or worse.’’

  Knowing she was far from invincible, Annabelle nodded. ‘‘I’ve known men like that all my life. And I’ve already seen their worst.’’ His hard face softened. ‘‘I already reckoned that, ma’am,’’ he said quietly. ‘‘I just figured you got out somehow.’’

  Realizing what he was saying, she swallowed. Would there ever come a day when she wouldn’t wear her old life so plainly for all to see? She briefly looked down at her hands, then back at him. ‘‘How did you know?’’

  He gave a shrug. ‘‘I’ve been around this for a long time. When you walked through the doors tonight, you didn’t flinch. A . . . normal woman . . . well, she would’ve been shocked. She would’ve turned and left. But you didn’t. In a glance, you worked the room and found your best mark.’’ He grinned. ‘‘Me.’’

  Seeing his smile drew one from her. Her experience had nearly cost her in this instance. ‘‘Thank you again, for your help.’’ She started toward the door.

  He held up a hand. ‘‘I’m afraid it’s not gonna be that easy.’’

  She paused beside him.

  ‘‘If you walk back into that room without me and try to leave here, you’re gonna be stopped. They already know you’re here about the girl. We’ll walk back in together. I’ll give a nod, tellin’ ’em I’ve taken care of things, and then you’ll be allowed to leave.’’ Reluctant, she agreed.

  ‘‘One more thing. . . .’’ His eyes swept her up and down. ‘‘If you leave this room like that they’re gonna know this wasn’t what it looked like, and then my boss’ll pull us both in to talk. And I make it a point to talk to that man as little as possible.’’

  With sick understanding, Annabelle nodded and looked down at his hands.

  Sighing, he gently tipped her chin. ‘‘I’m not gonna hit you, ma’am. Here . . .’’ He wiped some of the blood from the scratches on his arm and streaked it across her cheek and jaw.

  She wished she could take back how she’d questioned God’s provision moments ago. ‘‘Thank you,’’ she whispered. ‘‘For doing this.’’

  ‘‘Does your husband know you’re here?’’

  She frowned, then saw him looking at her left hand. ‘‘Oh, no . . . he doesn’t.’’

  A commotion sounded in the hallway.

  ‘‘There’s no lock on the door, so you best hurry.’’ Untucking his shirt with one hand, he pointed at her bodice with the other. ‘‘I’ll get you outta here safe, I promise.’’

  Annabelle pulled the pins from her hair and riffled her fingers through it. She hesitated for a split second, but as the footsteps in the hall grew closer, she pulled the hem of her shirtwaist from her skirt and began unbuttoning the top buttons. As she did so, something caught her eye. A name . . . on one of the charcoal pictures hanging above the desk. The face bore only the slightest resemblance to the man.

  Her hands froze. She took a step closer and reached out, certain she was misreading it. Then the door crashed open, and she spun around.

  Matthew Taylor stood in the doorway.

  CHAPTER | TWENTY - ONE

  AT FIRST, MATTHEW COULDN’T REACT. All he could do was stare.

  Annabelle’s shirtwaist was unbuttoned and revealing, her hair disheveled, and a giant of a man stood beside her. Matthew reached inside his jacket for his gun.

  Annabelle started toward him, clutching the fabric of her bodice. ‘‘Matthew, you don’t understand. This isn’t what—’’

  ‘‘Don’t.’’ He shook his head, knots tightening his stomach. ‘‘Don’t try to explain this away.’’ From the blood streaked on her face, he could tell the man had gotten rough with her. It was her own fault, but still, the sick feeling inside him worsened. It didn’t make any sense. It was like a dog returning to its vomit. Why would she come back to this life when she’d been given a way out?

  He’d followed her into town, aware of when she’d left and guessing where she was going. Leaving their camp unguarded for so long wasn’t his first choice, but he’d purposefully chosen a spot close to an outlying homestead, and once and for all, he wanted tangible proof about Annabelle Grayson. He’d watched her enter the establishment, had waited, then followed her in, firmly set on catching her in the act this time and hoping he was still one step ahead of the bounty hunter he’d seen in Willow Springs.

  But when he’d kicked the door open and had seen her standing there, getting dressed again, he’d felt none of the satisfaction he thought would come at having been proven right.

  He leveled the gun at the man, who appeared much more perturbed than frightened. ‘‘I’m leaving here with this woman, and I don’t want you trying to follow us out.’’

  ‘‘Mister, I don’t know how you got back here, but if I don’t follow you out the front door, you won’t be leavin’ here at all. I give you my word.’’

  Matthew took hold of Annabelle’s arm and pulled her through the doorway. ‘‘We’ll just see about that.’’

  The man acted like he might follow them until Matthew leveled his aim again. Then he stopped and raised his hands in truce.

  ‘‘Ma’am,’’ he said, giving Annabelle a pointed look, ‘‘you’d better talk some sense into him, and make it fast.’’

  Matthew slammed the door behind them, shutting the other man inside, and pulled Annabelle down the darkened corridor.

  She resisted, slowing their pace. ‘‘You don’t know what you’re doing, Matthew. That man was the bartender. I approached him earlier. He was helping—’’ ‘

  ‘I saw what he was helpin’ himself to, Annabell
e. I’m not blind.’’ He continued down the hall, dragging her with him. For once, she had no smart reply. He got to the door and leaned down close to her face. ‘‘Why would you come back to a place like this and . . . do what you just did when—’’ His voice broke, which only fed his anger. He tightened his grip on her arm. ‘‘When Johnny bought your way out? My brother loved you, for whatever reason, God help him. He cared about you . . . and this is what you do?’’

  She stared, unblinking.

  When Matthew reached to open the door, she put a hand against it.

  ‘‘Stop and listen to me, Matthew. I made a mistake coming here by myself. I realize that now. But that man can help get us out of here. He said if I tried to leave here on my own, the owner would stop me. He’ll stop you too. You don’t understand what—’’ ‘

  ‘I didn’t have a problem walking into this place, and we’ll walk out the same way.’’

  Pulse racing, he opened the door and stepped through, immediately spotting the woman who had told him where to find Annabelle. Her expression held warning. He glanced back behind them down the darkened hallway. Empty.

  But the door to the back room stood open.

  ‘‘Matthew! Look ou—’’

  The blow to his lower back sent him to his knees. His gun fell to the floor. Before he could reach it, a booted foot kicked it away.

  ‘‘I think you’re takin’ something that belongs to me, mister. For a few more minutes, anyway. So the way I see it, if you plan on taking her outta here, you owe me.’’

  Matthew struggled to his feet, the rush of pain making his head swim. He blinked to clear his vision and saw Annabelle struggling against two men holding her fast. Then he looked up at the bartender towering over him. This was the man she said was helping her? The woman had a strange definition of a hero.

  Disoriented, Matthew didn’t move fast enough.

  The blow to his jaw sent him staggering back, but it didn’t lay him flat out. Not like it should have if the bear of a man had put his full weight behind it. Through a blur, he saw the bartender coming at him again. For being so huge, the man moved with amazing agility.

  He grabbed Matthew’s shirt, hauled him off his feet, and slammed him into the wall. Everything went black for a minute, although Matthew could still hear the faint roar of cheering from the crowd. Johnny had always told him that the most important part of fighting was knowing when to fight and when to walk away. It scalded his pride, especially in front of Annabelle, but there was no way he could win this one. He’d be lucky to walk out in one piece, and he wouldn’t risk her further hurt, not with the pledge he’d made to Pastor Carlson. He felt the giant’s hand come around his throat and expected him to squeeze tight. But he didn’t.

  Instead the man brought his face close. ‘‘If you want to walk out of here alive with that woman,’’ he spoke through clenched teeth, ‘‘you’ll do exactly as I say.’’

  From across the room, Matthew detected the worry in Annabelle’s eyes. Her attention honed on him, she no longer struggled against the men who held her. The grip around his throat suddenly cinched tighter, and Matthew focused back on the bartender, deciding it might be best to listen.

  When the bartender finished and finally let him go, he turned, and Matthew struck him from behind. The man spun and hit him hard in the face. Again, with force unworthy of the muscles banding his thick arms, but Matthew went down anyway. Getting to his feet, he landed a punch below the man’s rib cage and stepped back, clenching and unclenching his right hand to work out the sting. It felt like he’d just tried to put his fist through a brick wall.

  He tasted blood and wiped his mouth. ‘‘I don’t owe you a thing. And neither does she.’’

  ‘‘Is that so?’’ The bartender smiled and scanned the crowd that had grown quiet around them. ‘‘How many people here think he owes me?’’

  Cheers went up.

  ‘‘How many people think she owes me?’’

  More cheers, laughter.

  He looked back at Matthew. ‘‘I guess you’re wrong about that, son. I can understand you bein’ protective of your whore, and that’s fine by me. But you need to pay me for time wasted.’’ The bartender stepped closer. ‘‘I’ll let her go for . . . five dollars. That’ll about cover it.’’

  Matthew glared at him . . . then pulled the bills from his pocket and counted them out into the man’s hand.

  The bartender smiled. ‘‘Nice doin’ business with you.’’ Then he nodded to the men holding Annabelle. But they didn’t let her go.

  He glanced back at Matthew, guarded surprise on his face.

  Matthew heard footsteps behind him. The man walking toward him was well dressed, roughly twenty years his senior. With his dark hair slicked back and not a hint of mercy in his features, he reminded Matthew of Antonio Sedillos. Thinking of Sedillos and the price he’d placed on his head back in Texas sent a chill scuttling up Matthew’s spine.

  The man stopped a few feet away. In his dark eyes shone a will not to be questioned. ‘‘Do you always have this much problem with your woman? That she would seek company here instead of at home, with you?’’

  That drew laughs from some of the men.

  Matthew fought the urge to look at the bartender, knowing better. ‘‘No, sir, I don’t. This was her first time. I thought she’d changed.’’ He coerced a smile. ‘‘But once a whore, always a whore, I guess.’’

  Murmured agreement trickled through the room.

  The man’s eyes narrowed. ‘‘Pardon if this offends,’’ he said, his expression saying just the opposite. ‘‘But I look at you and I don’t see a man who knows how to handle a woman. Especially a woman like this.’’ He nodded to the men holding Annabelle, and they brought her before him.

  Her hair flowed free over her shoulders. Her expression was hardened in defiance.

  Matthew started to move, but when he saw a flash of warning in her eyes, he stilled.

  The man lifted a dark curl from her chest and rubbed it between his fingers. ‘‘Don’t tell me. You bought her from a place like this, thinking that taking her out of here would change who she is.’’ He shook his head and made a tsking sound. ‘‘Only a fool believes that someone can change a person’s destiny. Let me give you some advice, man to man.’’ He gave Matthew a fatherly look, then ran a finger along Annabelle’s jawline and slowly down her throat, stopping short of where her unbuttoned shirtwaist lay open.

  Only the quick rise and fall of her chest hinted at her fear.

  Matthew stiffened, itching to retaliate. Knowing he couldn’t.

  ‘‘Deep down a woman wants to know that her man is strong and has the power to protect her.’’ Absurd sincerity lined the man’s expression. ‘‘Would you agree?’’

  ‘‘Absolutely,’’ Matthew answered, wanting to deck him.

  ‘‘Then I would suggest that tonight you teach her a lesson in that kind of protection.’’

  Knowing exactly what the man was referring to, he tried to imagine what Annabelle’s life must have been like dealing with men like this. Her head was bowed, arms limp at her sides. Disgust twisted his stomach as he answered. ‘‘I’ll do that. Thank you for the advice.’’

  ‘‘You’re most welcome.’’ He gave his men another nod, and they immediately granted Annabelle her release.

  She came to stand beside Matthew, her head still bowed. Matthew gently took hold of her arm to leave.

  ‘‘Ah, just one more thing.’’

  Hearing false gentility in the man’s voice, Matthew turned. And found himself staring down the barrel of his own gun. Instinctively, he moved in front of Annabelle.

  A slow smile spread across the man’s face. ‘‘You forgot something.’’ Switching the gun to his other hand, he held it out, handle first.

  Matthew reached for it only to have it pulled back.

  ‘‘To make sure you understand exactly what kind of lesson I’m talking about, I’d like to demonstrate, if you don’t mind.’’

 
Matthew took a step forward. ‘‘I do mind.’’ From the corner of his eye, he saw the bartender and noted the almost imperceptible shake of his head. ‘‘This woman belongs to me, and if there’s any lesson she needs to be taught, I’ll be doing the teaching.’’

  The man’s features hardened in challenge. ‘‘By all means, then, please.’’

  Hating what he had to do, Matthew faced Annabelle again. Her head was still bowed. ‘‘Look at me.’’

  She didn’t.

  Grabbing her chin, he forced her face up. ‘‘I said look at me.’’ A fleeting light in her eyes told him she knew what he was doing. Still, he could hardly bring himself to follow through.

  He struck her once across the face. She stared back, defiant. His chest ached.

  He struck her again and prayed she would keep her head down.

  Slowly, she lifted her chin as if to say, ‘‘That’s all you’ve got?’’

  He struck her again, as hard as he dared, and this time she kept her face lowered.

  ‘‘I promise,’’ she whispered after a moment. ‘‘I won’t do it again.’’

  Matthew sorely wanted to cover the marks on her cheek but instead shoved her toward the door. He waited until she was safely outside before turning back. ‘‘She won’t be back here again.’’

  The man handed him his gun. ‘‘And neither, I trust, will you.’’

  CHAPTER | TWENTY - TWO

  ANNABELLE MADE IT OUT THE door and onto the darkened boardwalk, then pressed back against the building. Waiting. Listening.

  ‘‘She won’t be back here again.’’ Matthew’s deep voice carried to her.

  She touched her left cheek, still feeling the sting from his hand. Judging from the tortured look she’d glimpsed in his eyes, his blows had hurt him a great deal more than they had hurt her.

  ‘‘And neither, I trust, will you.’’

  She closed her eyes. Don’t say anything else, Matthew. Leave. Just leave.

  Seconds later, he walked out the door, gun in hand, his face like stone. When he turned and saw her, a portion of the hardness melted away. Annabelle sensed the words building up inside of him, ready to spill out, but she shook her head. As though understanding, he threw a last glance behind them and gently took hold of her arm. He led her down the empty street to the corner and pulled her with him into an alley.