Chapter Eighteen
If Lottie’s jaw dropped any further, she would have to unbutton her bodice to eat. She practically sat on the lap of a Yankee. Momma would roll over in her grave.
“But you’re a Texan. Texas was Confederate.” This had to be a mistake.
“I was raised to believe it was wrong for one man to own another.”
“The war was about more than slavery.”
“For you maybe, but not for those men, women and children who worked your plantation.”
“I never said I had a plantation.”
“You didn’t have to.”
Lottie clamped her mouth shut. What he’d said stroked the guilt she’d harbored in her heart since the war. She was raised in luxury because of the workers on their plantation, but it wasn’t until the war that she’d ever questioned the morality of it all. It was just the way it had always been and the way she had assumed it would always be. She had slowly come to believe slavery was wrong, but that still didn’t give the Yankees the right to dictate to the South how they were to live their lives. Besides, there were plenty of Yankees who wore cotton picked by the hands of those slaves.
“At a loss for words?” Dyer’s defensive voice piqued her anger, and a part of her wanted to lash out at him for all the Yankees had done to destroy her beloved South.
She took a breath to do just that and then remembered the blackmailer, a Southerner who claimed to have served with her father in the war. At least what Dyer did, he did out of conviction and not greed. Of course, that did not change the fact he was a Yankee, and some things were more difficult to forgive than others.
“I’m not at a loss for words,” she finally answered. “I’ve just decided to take a little time to sort through which ones I want to use.”
Dyer allowed the knot in his gut to relax. He had fully expected her to flail into him with teeth bared and talons slashing, but she’d surprised him again. He knew the war had destroyed her life, but he doubted her loss was any greater than his. Pain like that couldn’t get any deeper.
The road was rough and rutted, and the decision to choose a horse over a carriage was a good one. But right now, having her sitting beside him on a bench would be easier than her nestled into his lap.
She was pissed.
He was pissed.
Hell, even Peckerhead was snorting more than usual. Luckily, they came upon a tavern by the road just at lunchtime. He dismounted and tied the horse to a hitching rail alongside a carriage and two other horses. Lottie slid off the horse before he could offer help. She faltered slightly, then regained her legs and marched into the tavern. Apparently, she wanted nothing to do with him, and that suited him fine.
It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dark interior of the room. The only window in the tavern was covered with enough grime to effectively filter out most of the light that might’ve slithered through the deep forest outside. Lottie walked over to a small table and took a seat with her back to him, sending a very clear message that she wanted to eat alone.
“Fine,” he muttered, picking a table as far from her as possible. Unfortunately, in a tavern as small as this one, that was only about twenty feet away. He scooted his chair so his back was to her as well. Two could play at this game.
A large man with a towel wrapped around his waist came into the room from what Dyer guessed was the kitchen. “If y’all are wantin’ to eat, we got deer stew and cornbread today.”
His sweat-stained shirt was only slightly cleaner than the grubby towel that had probably been used to wipe everything from tables to noses. The man stopped by Dyer’s table and pulled the stub of a cigar out of his mouth.
He looked first at Dyer, then at Lottie. “You two ain’t together?”
“No!” they answered simultaneously. A couple of men eating at the table beside Dyer’s looked at each other and grinned.
“Stew’s fine,” Dyer said, sending the owner on his way. The sooner they could eat, the sooner they could get on the road.
One of the men beside him leaned toward Dyer once his food was delivered. “You say she ain’t your woman?”
“Nope,” Dyer answered, biting into the stew, hoping nothing in it bit back.
The man chuckled and scooted his chair away from the table. Dyer lowered his spoon and sighed. Why hadn’t he seen that coming? He looked over his shoulder at the tree stump of a man as he walked to Lottie’s table.
“Well, missy,” the stump said to Lottie. “You travelin’ all alone?”
Dyer couldn’t see Lottie’s face, but the slight tremble of her spoon told him she was frightened. She tipped her head back to speak. “I—”
Dyer stood. The sound of his chair scraping across the wooden floor drew the stump’s attention. “I said she wasn’t my woman. I didn’t say she traveled alone.”
The stump’s gaze narrowed. “Seems to me, pretty boy, that you need to make up yer mind.”
“I believe I did.” Hell. The stew wasn’t half bad, but it looked like he wouldn’t be finishing it.
The stump growled and ran toward Dyer. Dyer stepped to the side and plowed his fist into the man’s belly, doubling him over. Dyer immediately followed through with an upper cut to his chin, sending the oaf to the floor with an “oof.”
He opened and closed his fist a couple of times to relieve the sting in his knuckles before he turned around just in time to meet the fist of the stump’s friend. Unfortunately, he met it with his face and down he went, crashing into Lottie’s table as he fell.
The friend grinned in victory, showing a lack of intelligence only surpassed by his lack of teeth. Dyer rubbed his jaw and regained his feet. He spat the blood from his mouth and raised his fists.
“Now let’s see if you can do that without blindsiding a man.”
The goon dropped his grin and took a swing. Dyer blocked it and returned with a blow to his jaw that should have knocked his brains out. But evidently this man’s brains were a little lower. The idiot came at Dyer again, swinging his fists like a fury. Dyer ducked and kicked him in the nuts with all the strength he could muster. The bastard froze, then gave a tiny cough before his eyes rolled back in his head and he dropped to the floor like a sack of potatoes.
“Let’s get out of here before our friends wake up.” Dyer grabbed Lottie’s arm and led her out of the tavern. He set her on the horse and quickly mounted, leading Peckerhead away from the tavern and down the road toward Greenville.
Lottie sat in silence for several minutes, which was just as well. Dyer’s face throbbed from where old Swollen Nuts had sucker punched him, and his heart thumped from the exertion of the fight. There was the chance those two men would come after them, and even though he doubted they would, he still needed to stay at the ready.
After some time passed without any sign of the men from the tavern, Dyer allowed his body to relax.
“Thank you,” Lottie finally mumbled.
Dyer leaned closer to her. “For what?” He knew why, but he couldn’t help but force her to say it.
She sighed. “For helping me.”
“For coming to your rescue, you mean?”
“Yes, I guess occasionally I do need rescuing.”
“Occasionally? Miss Mace, you need more rescuing than a June bug in a chicken coop.”
“I didn’t before I met you.”
Since he hadn’t known her before she met him, he’d have to take her word on that.
“Anyway,” she continued, “I’ve decided to forgive you.”
If he were a smart man, he’d leave that alone. “For what?”
“For being a Yankee. As long as you promise to never do it again.”
And that’s what he got for asking. “Miss Mace, the war is over, and I’m no longer a Yankee, just a man.”
Her gentle touch on the arm he’d wrapped around her waist surprised him. She patted him like he was a child and muttered, “And I think you’re a good man.”
Her simple statement hit him harder than anything those two at the tavern had thrown at him. Having nothing to say, he decided to act as though he hadn’t heard her. She’d had enough disappointment in her life, and correcting her mistaken opinion of him would serve no purpose.
They rode in silence until the sun set and Lottie’s head drifted back onto his shoulder in sleep. The night before had been tough on her, thanks to Mimi’s vindictiveness. Even though Dyer’s muscles ached, he moved as little as possible so he wouldn’t wake Lottie. The singing of the tree frogs and crickets filled the night air as Peckerhead plodded along, but even the old horse sagged with tiredness.
If they didn’t find someplace to pass the night soon, they would have to sleep in the woods. As they rounded a bend in the road, an inn came into view.
Lottie’s rumbling stomach under his palm was a reminder that lunch had been cut a tad short. He guided Peckerhead to the hitching rail and waited to see if their stopping would wake Lottie. She didn’t stir. He leaned over and nuzzled her ear.
“Miss Mace?”
She made a tiny mewing sound, then snuggled deeper into him. His mind went through a litany of ornery things he could do to wake her, but she was too damned soft and he was too damned hard to take that chance. So instead, he cleared his throat.
“Miss Mace, if you’re dead set on throwing yourself on me, the least you could do is wait until we have more privacy.”
That worked. She gasped and sat up, fully awake. “I—
I . . .”
“It’s all right,” he grumbled, swinging down from the saddle. “Women always have that problem with me.” He lifted her from the horse and ushered her toward the inn. He leaned next to her ear, adding just before he opened the door, “But they usually fall asleep after they take their pleasure.”
Very few women could wear a blush as prettily as Lottie. Maybe that was why he enjoyed giving her one so much.
A man Dyer assumed was the owner came over to meet them. “Y’all wantin’ a room?”
Dyer nodded. “And a meal.”
“Meal ain’t no problem, but I hope you and the misses ain’t fightin’, ’cause I’ve only got one room left.”
“Oh, we’re not—”
“Fighting,” Dyer interrupted Lottie. He put his arm around her waist and hugged. “We have much better things to do, don’t we, darlin’?” He leaned over to whisper to her. “If we don’t sleep here, we’ll be out in the woods.”
She nodded her head, forcing a little smile. “Of course we’re not fighting, sweetheart.”
The proprietor reached into his pocket and pulled out a key. “Your room will be the first one to your left at the top of the stairs. Pay before you eat or do anything else.” He chuckled and winked at Dyer, then handed him the key.
Lottie hoped her face wasn’t as red as it felt. She waited patiently while Dyer paid the man and led them to a table for supper. The spicy stew and warm bread tasted like heaven, and she ate her fill before she finally leaned across the table to speak to Dyer in private.
“We cannot share a room.”
He leaned toward her. “There’s only one.”
“I am fully aware of that, and if you were any kind of gentleman, you’d let me have it.”
“I never claimed to be a gentleman.”
That was true enough. “But you know there will only be one bed.”
He grinned, and the glint in his eye told her she was in trouble. “I am betting you are correct on that.”
“Are you going to let me have the bed?”
“I don’t see why we can’t share it.”
She gasped. “You know very well why.”
“Miss Mace, I promise to be a gentleman.”
“You just said you weren’t a gentleman.”
He shrugged and leaned back in his chair. “Doesn’t mean I can’t reform.”
She clamped her mouth shut and sat back in her chair. This was getting nowhere, and he was having entirely too much fun getting there. She tapped her foot against the floor, thinking through exactly what she wanted to say to him when her attention diverted to a group of men who entered the room. They laughed and talked as they walked across the dining area and through a door in the back.
“Excuse me?” She motioned to the proprietor. “Where are those men going?” she asked when he reached their table.
“Some of the local men enjoy their cards in the back room. But you needn’t be concerned.”
Cards. “What do they play?”
“Poker.” He picked up their plates and walked away.
She looked across the table at Dyer, who for some reason shook his head. “Don’t even think about it.”
“Why not? It would be a perfect chance for me to practice.”
“A woman doesn’t practice poker in a back room with a bunch of men she doesn’t know. The Belle is much safer.”
“Those men didn’t look dangerous. Besides, I have you to rescue me.”
He rubbed the slightly purple jaw he’d acquired earlier in the day. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”
She tapped her foot again. Maybe she should trust his opinion on this. It wasn’t the type of place she usually frequented, and their lunchtime encounter wasn’t something she wanted to repeat. But she needed money.
“All right.” She reached into her reticule and pulled out her last five dollars. “Will you play for me?”
He narrowed his gaze and started to speak, but she interrupted him before he could refuse. “I need to win my entry, and this delay caused by your . . . lady friend, is costing me a night on the Belle. If you’re not going to let me play, the least you can do is play for me.” She reached the money across the table and waited.
He finally sighed and took the money. “What if I lose?”
“I do occasionally.”
She stood, smoothing down the front of her dress. “But you won’t this time.” She gestured toward the door and waited until he reluctantly stood and headed to the room.
He stopped beside her, lifting her chin with his finger. “You are to do nothing but watch.”
She placed her hand over her heart. “I swear.”
Dyer joined the game while Lottie scurried to find a chair and place it where the others couldn’t accuse her of seeing their cards. One of the men handed Dyer the deck and asked him to deal. He smiled sheepishly, then fumbled the deck, dropping half of it when he attempted to shuffle.
She frowned. Maybe he’d been hit harder than she’d realized. He dealt the cards around the table, apologizing profusely when one of them soared off the top and into a man’s lap. The others chuckled and assured him it wasn’t a problem, but Lottie had seen Dyer handle cards before and knew there definitely was a problem.
She stared at him across the room until he finally raised his eyes to her. The twinkle in their depths allowed her to relax a little. She would have to trust he knew what he was doing. She turned her attention to the others, watching their faces for any tells that might give away their hands. It was into the third hand when she noticed the pupils of one man’s eyes grew larger when he was dealt what turned out to be the winning hand. She continued to study him and realized his eyes didn’t react when his next hand ended with him folding.
Her belly knotted with excitement. The others’ eyes had similar reactions, and soon she picked up on twitches and unusual mouth movements. For the first time, she understood what Dyer had told her about tells. She could read everyone at the table, except Dyer.
His eyes were so dark his pupils weren’t visible even in bright daylight, and she found his mouth more distracting than telling.
Of course, the way he’d been playing, he wasn’t much to watch anyway. So far, he’d only won one of the last five hands. Maybe he didn’t know what he was doing.
She mentally counted up how much of her five dollars he had left, wondering how long she’d have to work the tables on the Belle to earn enough to ante up again. Of all the times for him to have a bad night.
Dyer picked up his cards, careful to allow the worst in his hand to fall on the table before quickly grabbing it up. He saw the other men glance at each other and grin. By now they thought he was an easy mark, or at least they should. He had intentionally lost four of the first five hands, as he always did, and he thought his fumbling card act added a nice touch. It was time to add to Lottie’s funds, though he doubted the entire lot had more than thirty dollars to their name. Still, thirty dollars was thirty dollars.
He agreed to upping the ante, then won the next four hands. Things were going well until one of the men slapped the top of the table.
“Gentlemen,” he said. “I think we’ve been had.”
Dyer lifted his gaze from his cash. “What are you implying, sir?”
The man leaned across the table and frowned. “I should’ve seen it coming with your fancy clothes and all.” He spat on the floor without taking his eyes off Dyer. “Where are you from, boy?”
This had the potential to get ugly. “My wife and I are from New Orleans. We’re heading home to visit family. Her ma is sick,” he added as an afterthought. Sympathy might work to their advantage right now.
“You tellin’ me you ain’t a professional? One of them riverboat gamblers?”
Dyer chuckled. “Well, I must say, I never had anyone accuse me of that before.” He winked at Lottie. “I think it’s just that my wife doesn’t usually watch me play. She must be a good luck charm.”
The man glanced back at Lottie, then snorted. “Well, charm or not, I’m through for the evening.” He left the table with the others grumbling and following in his wake.
Dyer waited until they’d left before he collected the winnings. Lottie still sat in her chair, her eyes the size of saucers.
He walked across the room and handed her the money. “And that’s what I was hoping to avoid. These backwoods men don’t take kindly to some outsider coming in and cleaning them out.”
She glanced toward the door. “Do you think they’re waiting for you?”
He shrugged. “I think we need to go to our room and lock the door. They’re not likely to wait here ’til morning, and I told them we were going to New Orleans. If they’re planning an ambush, they’ll go south of the inn and wait while we go north.”
Dyer led Lottie quickly to their room, locking the door behind them while she lit the lamp. The room was furnished only with an iron bed, a tiny table for the lamp, and a washstand complete with a pitcher and bowl. It was small, but the bedding appeared to be clean, and he was so tired he thought he could sleep standing up. Not that he had any intention to, of course.
He removed his jacket and draped it across the footboard of the bed before he sat on the side and removed his boots. Lottie still hadn’t said anything, which probably meant she was dead, but he was too tired to check on that just now. He lay down on top of the quilt and closed his eyes.
“Mr. Straights?”
Well, at least she wasn’t dead. “Yes?”
“Do you intend to sleep there?”
“As soon as the room gets quiet.”
It did.
Damn. He opened his eyes. She stood beside the bed with her hands clutched tightly in front of her. Her tired face was pinched in concern, and he had no one to blame for that but himself. He sighed.
“Miss Mace, I cannot leave this room or those men downstairs will do me in. I’m too tired to sleep on the floor, and we have to get up early in the morning and ride several hours to catch the Belle in Greenville. If you want to stand there all night and watch me sleep, that’s fine by me, but you’re going to have to do it in the dark.”
He reached over, shut off the lamp and snuggled into his pillow, hoping his speech had talked some sense into her. In a few minutes he felt her gingerly lie on the bed, and the sound of her even breathing told him she fell asleep almost instantly.
Unfortunately, the soft fragrance of her hair drifted through the darkness and every inch of his body suddenly awoke, keenly aware she was close enough to touch . . . and to kiss . . . and he had no one to blame but himself for that either.
Hell, he was in for a long night.