Devil in Texas(24)

Reluctantly, Cass raised his eyes once more to the brothel's third story. Like a naughty smile, the golden sickle of a harvest moon was rising behind the chimney. He couldn't help but wonder if Sadie really was in one of those dimly lit rooms. The hour was just after 7 p.m. The grangers' dinner was over at the Grand Park Hotel. That meant Sadie was free to do what she did best after the sun went down: smolder like the devil's daughter in some other man's bed.

Against his will, Cass found himself recalling the slow, predatory approach of his lover as she prowled through moonlight and shadow. Sadie liked to wear sinfully transparent temptations that were strung together with fewer stitches than a buttonhole. When she moved, ebony-silk rosettes would flutter in a hide-and-seek pattern across her more fascinating freckled places.

God. The things they used to do in that Dodge City brothel four years ago. His loins throbbed at the memory. Sadie had come a long way since their first lusty romp in Pilot Grove. She'd learned how to flash those tawny eyes, curve those blood-red lips, and rumble deep in her throat, reducing a civilized man to his most primitive urges. And that was before she stroked a perfectly lacquered finger across his burning flesh.

Cass drew a shuddering breath. He forced himself to turn his back on the window, to gather his horse's reins and spur Pancake away from Sadie's memory.

Damn her, anyway. She'd betrayed him to the Rangers. She couldn't be trusted. She'd made that painfully clear last night—again. They were finished. He was finished. So why was he torturing himself? Hell, there were other redheads in the world!

As if to torment him, a vision of Poppy Westerfield sneaked inside his mind.

Cass grimaced. He wasn't looking forward to facing his boss's wife when he reached the hotel. In fact, he took the long way to Hancock Park, uncertain how to deliver his bad news: the maid whom Poppy had sent him to investigate had vanished as thoroughly as yesterday's sniper.

To tell the truth, Cass wasn't sure Mrs. Dalrymple even existed. Poppy had described golden eyes, which weren't common. When she'd added blue spectacles to the maid's list of accessories, Cass had begun to suspect that a certain freckled redhead, who'd begun to favor disguises, had been snooping through Baron's room. The question was, why? Had Sterne sent Sadie as his campaign spy?

Or was Sadie sleeping with Baron?

Cass's heart twisted at the thought.

As much as Cass cared about the randy old skirt-chaser, he didn't know how long he could pretend indifference if Baron was humping Sadie. In fact, he didn't know if he could stop himself from punching out Baron's lights. Or worse.

Baron's skirt-chasing was a problem for other reasons too. As his bodyguard, Cass was supposed to be on the lookout for assassins, and Baron wasn't helping matters by letting beerjerkers do a bump-and-grind in his lap.

As if that wasn't bad enough, the senator was practically inviting that granger vigilante to take another potshot at him. Baron liked to claim he headed to Aquacia Bathhouse each morning to make peace with the sodbusters, but the truth was, Baron was ailing. His trousers were growing too big in the waist, and the whites of his eyes were a jaundiced yellow.

In public, of course, Baron remained his charming, baby-kissing self—most of the time. An exception to the norm had occurred at the pool that afternoon, when Pendleton had rushed in the door with a private message. After a quick but agitated conference with his secretary, Baron ignited the paper with a few puffs of his cigar and waved Pendleton back to the campaign office.

Nevertheless, the secretary's news must have upset Baron, because he promptly lost a $10,000 poker pot. Although Baron never did volunteer the contents of the message, he confided that Poppy was going to be on the rampage.

Sure enough, Poppy was. The minute Baron walked through the door of their hotel suite, his wife accused him of entertaining his mistress in their bedroom. No one was more surprised than Baron at this accusation. He blinked blankly at her when she produced a strand of dark, auburn hair as evidence. In Cass's private opinion, that hair looked suspiciously like Sadie's.

"I found it in your drawer of unmentionables," Poppy spat, her cheeks nearly as red as her own strawberry curls.

"Why the devil were you snooping through my underwear?"

"I wasn't snooping! The drawer was shut crooked, so I..." Her chest heaved. "You were fornicating!"

Baron snorted. "As if this damned wasting sickness has left me the balls to do it."

"Don't you dare change the subject, James Westerfield!"

Baron rolled his eyes. "I've been making nice with sodbusters since nine o'clock this morning. A dozen witnesses can vouch for me at Aquacia Bathhouse."

"All men, I suppose."

"Hell, yeah! Men have better things to do than nag!"

Cass winced at the memory. He owed his loyalty to Baron, so he'd forced himself to keep quiet about his suspicions: namely, that Baron had been rutting with Sadie.

What did the hellcat hope to gain by seducing Baron? At least her affair with Sterne made sense. The former Ranger was fit and single. Since Sterne's retirement allowed him to take a wife, he represented the possibility of a better life for Sadie.

Not that marriage guaranteed happiness. Baron and Poppy were living proof of that.

Cass thought back to his childhood. He couldn't remember his parents cuss-fighting the way Poppy and Baron did. In fact, Cass liked to think that Pa had really loved Ma, the way fairytale couples loved each other. If Cass hadn't screwed up his life, getting his face plastered on Wanted Posters all around the West, he would have wanted to love a woman that way and start a family.

Working for an important man like Baron, a man who had the power to make sweeping changes for good, was how Cass hoped he might finally earn his redemption, at least in the eyes of the law.

He just wished Baron would treat women better.

As Cass rode up the Grand Park's drive, he spied his philandering boss sneaking out of the hotel's lobby. Baron was dressed in his best swallowtails. His freshly shaved chin looked softer than a baby's bottom, and he reeked of lemongrass soap. Cass didn't need to see an engraved invitation to know his boss was headed for a tryst, minus the inconvenience of a bodyguard.

"Hell," Baron boomed as Cass threw his reins to a waiting stableboy, "no wonder you took so long to run Poppy's errand. You're still riding Flea-Bait."

"Pancake," Cass corrected him.

"Yeah. Same thing."

A muscle ticked in Cass's jaw. Baron didn't think the buckskin could measure up as a Ranger's horse. Cass secretly agreed; however, he was just ornery enough to defy this logic because Pancake was the one subject both Collie and Baron could agree upon, and he needed Baron to accept Collie.

Besides, Cass was supposed to be a law-abiding citizen now. He couldn't indulge in his favorite tradition: rustling his mount from a town with an odd name. Last July, he'd been tickled by the notion of retiring Jelli, from Jellico, Tennessee, so he could "borrow" a buckskin from Pancake, Texas.

Being a law-abiding citizen sure isn't much fun.

"Uh-oh." Baron's canny gaze darted from Cass's scowl to the trigger guards of his holsters. "Who'd you plug this time? That smart-mouthed kid?"

Cass folded his arms across his chest.

"Pleading the 5th, eh?" Baron boomed jovially. "Can't say I blame you. But it would be a shame to shoot the coon. Especially after Vandy crapped on Sterne's pillow."

Cass wasn't amused. "Where are you going?"

"To church." Baron rolled his eyes. "Don't wait up, Ma."