Devil in Texas(4)

Taking the opportunity to peer over the soprano's shoulder, Sadie scanned the sun-blackened faces at the bar.

Uh-oh. Where's Cass?

Hastily, Sadie checked the gamblers, gathered around the faro, roulette, and craps tables. She couldn't see her ex-lover anywhere. Biting her lip, she dropped the curtain, allowing inky-blue shades to crowd around her.

Damn. Cass had already headed for her dressing room. That meant she'd have to retreat to her bedroom to retrieve a new costume—or better yet, a gun. Under a flood of stage lights, in skin-tight fishtails, she hadn't been able to disguise the bulge of a pistol on her thigh.

Sadie barely heard the strings bow the opening chords of Lucifire. Her mind was in a whirl as she weaved through hulking shadows cast by theatrical backdrops, shaped like pirate ships, Poseidon, and whales. It occurred to her she should warn Mace about the Cass problem before she reported to Baron's poker game.

Her feet faltered.

Suddenly, she was distracted by a tendril of tobacco smoke. She tensed. She would have recognized that signature blend of cinnamon and cloves anywhere. However, spying Cass amidst the prop clutter in the stage's dimly lit wing was going to be another matter entirely.

"The years have been good to you, Sadie."

Her heart skipped as that seductive, Texas baritone caressed her name. He was closer than she'd imagined, invisible except for his cigarette. The tip brightened, kindling orange flames in the sapphire mirrors of his eyes. When he exhaled, silvery, aromatic fingers reached out to her, beckoned her, enticing her as only the promise of secrets and sin can.

"You sound surprised," she rallied, reining in her galloping emotions. "What were you expecting? Wrinkles and warts?"

"And a pointy, black hat."

"Dog."

A flash of white hinted at his grin—a dimpled, darling grin that still had the power to sneak into her dreams.

He leaned a shoulder against the frame of a velvet swing. His new pose silhouetted him against the rising moon, peeking through the catwalk's window. Lunar light and star shine shimmered around his sun-streaked hair. Such a halo was incongruous for a man who looked like the devil in his thigh-hugging leather and denim.

As if on cue, Randie's voice soared like larksong through the house:

"Lucifire they called him,

His draw was next to none;

His smile was like an angel's;

The devil ruled his gun.

"The purdy gals in Texas

Would sigh for him and swoon,

When Lucifire went sparking—

Sneaked thru windows to go sparking—

Broke fair hearts when he went sparking—

Each night beneath the moon."

Cass chuckled, exhaling another stream of smoke. "Lucifire, huh? So that's how you're immortalizing my legend these days."

She cringed inside. She'd been hoping the scapegrace had forgotten how she'd once confessed, in the throes of sentimental lunacy, that she wrote all her love songs about him.

"You think I wrote those lyrics?"

"Wrote them and intended to sing them—until you spied me in the crowd."

"Nonsense."

"'Laryngitis,'" he mocked, pitching his voice higher and imitating the way she'd patted her throat. "'Out of the blue.'"

She kept smiling—barely. She remembered the other reason why Cass was so dangerous: he'd known her since puberty. They'd both come a long way since his thirteenth birthday, when he'd been forced to flee east Texas, charged with gunning down the Ku Klux Klansman, who'd murdered his older cousin. Still, Cass knew enough of her tricks and weaknesses to jeopardize her mission. Maybe even her life.

He cocked his head. Randie was singing again:

"The Devil in the darkness,

His kisses burned like flame;

Lawmen vowed to catch him;

Fathers cursed his name."

Sadie's face heated like a firecracker.

Cass chuckled, tapping ash from his cigarette. "Not that I'm criticizing, but you might add a verse about how Mothers adore me. And how little kiddies want to grow up to be like me. You know, to keep the record straight."

"Sure. And then I could add how pigs fly and buffaloes have wings."

"Naw." He winked with roguish charm. "No one would believe that part."

Randie launched into the next verse:

"Wanted by the Rangers,

And fleeing Lady Love,

Lucifire nursed a secret–

An aching, soul-deep secret–

Young Lucifire hid his secret—

His heart yearned for a dove.

"Her eyes were hot as cinders,

Her heart burned like a brand,

The outlaw's red-haired siren,

Would never wed one man.

"The fearsome Texas Rangers,

Drove our hero from his love.

But Lucifire vowed to have her–

He'd trade his guns to have her–

He'd wear a star to have her–

The outlaw swore to God above."

Cass's stare locked with hers. Sapphire flames blazed a path to her soul. In a heartbeat, she was transported back to her seedy sweatbox of a bedroom above Dodge City's infamous Long Branch Saloon. But she was laughing and snuggling, feeling safe, sated, and cherished in Cass's arms.

She tore her gaze from the primal calling in her lover's stare.

"So tell me," he said huskily, "how does Lucifire's ballad end?"

"You don't remember?" She couldn't quite keep the sting from her tone. "He rides away and never looks back. And neither does she."

A muscle ticked in Cass's jaw.

"Right."

He seemed to lose all interest in Randie's singing. Tossing aside his smoke, he rubbed out the tip with his boot. His fancy, Mexican-style spurs jingled above the poignant sighing of the violins.

"So." He hooked his thumbs over his waistband. "What do you know about Karl Dietrich and the shenanigans going on around this place?"

Alarm bells went off in Sadie's head. Cass's suspicions were way too close for comfort. "Care to be more specific?" she hedged.

"I hear Dietrich won the joint last week. And now he's making trouble for my friends."

"Friends like Randie? Or friends who hired your guns?"

"What difference does it make? Unless you're in cahoots with him."

"Honestly." She mustered a provocative tone—one of her best diversions. "You make love sound so... illegal."

He snorted. "The only thing you're in love with is Dietrich's bank account."

"Sour grapes, darling?"

"Maybe." He folded his arms across his chest. "Or maybe you're too full of piss and vinegar to admit that throwing in your lot with Dietrich was a mistake. Half the whores in this establishment are gunning for him. The other half are gunning for you."

"Occupational hazard."

His brow furrowed. "C'mon, Sadie. This life isn't for you. You're 28 years old! How much longer do you think you can keep apes, like Dietrich, happy? Quit whoring around while you still can. Find yourself a decent husband. Settle down. Raise a passel of kids."

Her chest heaved at his presumption—and not just because he'd never committed himself to her.

"Because I can still turn a man's head?" she asked with deceptive pleasantness.

"Well sure. A fella would have to be dead not to notice you."

"Lucky me. So many Johns. So little time."

"I can't believe that's what you really want."

"No? Because the greatest thing a woman should aspire to in life is becoming the obedient thrall of a husband, who, by law, can do whatever he likes to her property, her body, and her children?"

"You know I never did cotton to the law."

"And yet you want to enforce it. As a Ranger."

His eyes flashed, a sure sign her barb had struck a nerve.