Lawman (22 page)

But she hadn't intended to amuse him so much
as this! Crossing her arms, Megan watched the play of laughter on
his face. In an instant, the harsh lines of his face eased, and his
demeanor took on an lightheartedness she'd never glimpsed in
Gabriel before. His body shook with whole-hearted mirth.

At the sight, something inside her softened.
Like this, Gabriel seemed younger, less cynical...as though there
were infinitely more to him than the relentless Pinkerton man he'd
allowed her to see.

His laughter subsided quickly, like a summer
storm spent in moments. She should have known, Megan reminded
herself staunchly, that any carefree behavior from Gabriel Winter
would be short-lived.

The man was as determined and single-minded
as the Arizona Territory sky was blue.

Just like her.

Something in common
, the rebellious,
lonesome part of her whispered. Deliberately, she pushed back the
thought and focused on Gabriel's newly serious expression.

He caught sight of her undoubtedly curious
regard...and actually chuckled anew.

She reached for his coffee cup, tilted it
toward her, and sniffed its contents suspiciously. "Have you been
imbibing already? I didn't notice any liquor on your breath, but
perhaps the coffee disguised it."

"I don't need liquor to recognize when I've
met my match," he said, retrieving his cup from her grasp. "Or to
know that leaving you out of my sight, even for the length of time
it takes a lady to get gussied up, was a mistake. A mistake I don't
mean to repeat."

Affronted by his insinuation that she needed
a
length
of time to beautify herself for the day, Megan
lifted her chin. "Fine. Release me, and we needn't concern
ourselves with each other any longer."

"No." He finished slathering jam on his
toast and crunched off at least half of his triangular-shaped slice
with one bite.

My, the man was large. Large mouth, wide
shoulders...big hands. Her gaze lowered to his strong, capable
fingers as they cradled his toast. The deft, delicate way he
handled that slice of bread as he prepared it for consumption
reminded her of the way he'd cupped her jaw in his hand
yesterday...in preparation for his kiss.

Remembering that kiss, she felt anew the
prick of the adobe wall at her back when he'd pressed hard against
her, holding her in place with the shocking tilt of his hips on
hers. She tasted again the heated textures of his lips and tongue,
felt the seductive slide of his hand moving down her neck to hold
her still. Gabriel had known exactly what he'd wanted from her.
She'd been all too happy to give it, believing herself fully in
control of all that happened.

Believing herself well-protected against
caring whether he wanted her at all.

Now, Megan knew no such certainty. The
realization scared her—almost as much as did the sudden stillness
of his hands.

She looked up. Belatedly, she realized he'd
been speaking to her...and she'd heard not a word, thanks to her
unlikely girlish daydreams. What was the matter with her?

Clearing her throat, Megan took a moment to
gather what poise she could. "I'm sorry," she said, taking up her
fork again. "I was speculating how far afield agent McMarlin might
have gone by now. What did you say?"

His eyes, dark as her chances seemed of
finding her father in time, gleamed at her from across the table.
Her heart sank. Gabriel believed himself to have the upper
hand.

He was probably right.

Drat the man and his nimble, seductive
fingers!

"I said, I'm surprised you didn't clobber
him on his way down the bed sheets."

"I couldn't." Neither could she conceal the
mischievous smile that crept to her lips. "I was hiding beneath the
bed."

His mouth quirked upward in an answering
grin. "I'm beginning to think you're not as ferocious as you
pretend, sugar."

"Ferocious?" Even knowing he had to be
teasing her, she shuddered. If the gossips in town caught wind of
such an accusation, she'd never hear the end of it. The
marriageable males for miles would scatter to the corners of the
Territory, scared away by the latest tale of the spinster
Kearney.

Why that notion should pain her now more
than ever, she couldn't begin to guess.

"Not hardly," she went on with an arch of
her brow. "I did wash and bandage the lump on poor agent McMarlin's
head last night, remember?"

"As the man on the other end of the
handcuffs, I could hardly fail to notice."

"See? For my part, agent Winter—"

"Gabriel."

He sounded fit to be tied at her refusal to
use his given name. Naturally, that only compelled her to refuse
still further.

"—I'm beginning to think you're not as
relentless as
you
pretend."

"Don't lay bets on that." His mouth drew
taut. "You're living proof that women's intuition is less reliable
than facts. Hasn't anyone told you assumptions are dangerous?"

"Hasn't anyone told you actions speak louder
than words?"

Unbidden, an image of Gabriel's face,
relaxed as it had been in laughter, pushed its way into Megan's
mind. She pushed it straight back.

"Take your actions, for instance," she went
on pointedly. "You're still sitting here, calmly having breakfast
with me. Why haven't you already gone to retrieve poor misguided
agent McMarlin?"

He wiped his fingers on his napkin, blotted
his mouth, then looked up. "Is that what you had planned?"

She heaved a sigh, hoping it sounded as
nonchalant as his guess at her intentions had. "Actually, I'd
planned to escape—straight out the front door," she informed him.
"But then I happened to glance inside the dining room as I passed
by, and found myself too hungry to leave straightaway."

"Mmmm." Gabriel's eyes narrowed as he
examined her hardly touched plate of sugary, syrup-coated food.
"I'd say you found yourself too eager to see me to leave." With a
challenging—and altogether aggravating—tilt of his head, he clasped
his hands together and fixed her with a discerning look. "You're
enjoying our time together. Admit it."

"Ha!" She tossed her head, then was forced
to ruin the drama of the moment by slapping away a ribbon that
slipped into her eyes. "Admit some bit of nonsense like that?" If
she did, he'd probably use it against her somehow. "I'd sooner
sleep on a bed of saguaros."

He grinned and made a tsk-tsk sound. "They
wouldn't dare poke their needles into you, sugar. I've no doubt
you'd kick them into submission, given the way you sleep."

Her cheeks heated at his reminder of the
enforced intimacy they'd shared last night. "At least a cactus
wouldn't steal the coverlet!"

"Ahhh." Slowly, Gabriel stroked his palms
over the tablecloth, for all the world looking wounded at her
accusation. "But with the sun so much above them, the saguaros have
warming enough to last. I'll wager no cactus gets as cold as I
do...nor could it claim such a need for warmth."

She stared. Was he serious? She'd labeled
him as cold-hearted herself, upon meeting him, Megan recalled with
a sense of sadness. Perhaps he recognized that lonely coldness
within himself.

Perhaps he regretted it, too.

Did she, as well?

Looking at him now, she thought she might.
There had been too much solitude in her own life for her to
overlook signs of it in another. Suddenly, Megan wanted nothing so
much as to fill Gabriel's life with more of the laughter she'd
glimpsed in him...to crawl inside his chilly soul and warm him with
all the caring she hadn't dared unleash with anyone until now.

Surely, she'd gone daft to be thinking such
softhearted absurdities about Gabriel Winter.

Abandoning her meal, she drew herself
straighter in her chair. "You can't possibly mean you were cold,"
Megan protested. "Not when you had the company of all those Maiden
Lane ladies last night. Why, the corset forms some of them wear are
so well-padded, a man could use one for a fine pair of
earmuffs!"

"Really?" For a moment, he seemed
distracted...and disarmingly interested. Then Gabriel leaned
forward and gave her a measuring look. "I thought you said you
didn't follow me last night."

Too late, she remembered her denial in the
darkened alleyway. "I didn't follow you."

"No? Then how do you...?" His gaze dipped to
her perfectly respectable shirred navy bodice, then lifted. He
chose another course. "I'd say your knowledge of those 'ear muffs'
does not come from personal experience, darlin'."

Was he suggesting she
needed
padding?
Needed the kind of subterfuge a painted lady employed for the sake
of attractiveness? Hating the sense of disappointment that welled
within her at the thought, Megan wadded her linen napkin and hurled
it to the table.

"I'll have you know, that my knowledge
of...of
that
—" Why was she floundering so? Her voice had
turned squeaky as a shotgun groom's vows. "—owes itself to my
dressmaking abilities. I certainly haven't any desire to employ
such a device with my own—"

"Good."

His blunt appraisal stopped her cold.
"Wh—what?"

"Good. There's nothing I dislike more in a
woman than deception."

His assessing gaze told her he spoke of more
than padded corset forms. It warned her that he suspected a greater
deception on her part...and warned her further to take care.

"Besides," Gabriel went on, "you seem
perfectly well-padded to me already."

She wanted to be offended. Surely she
ought
to be. But the devilish edge to his smile stole away
whatever insult Megan might have taken from his words. She'd never
seen such hot appreciation in a man's eyes before. Now that she
had, she found she didn't have the will to refuse it.

Beneath his regard, her breasts grew warm,
tingling much as they had this morning upon awakening with his arm
cradling her so near. The sensation was entirely too pleasant to
have been engendered by a rascal like Gabriel, but she couldn't
seem to stop it. She prayed he couldn't tell. Judging by the rapt
attention he continued to pay her, by the heavy-lidded slant to his
gaze, Megan feared terribly that he could.

Her breath shortened. Fighting the urge to
stare down at her bosom and see whatever it was he found so
fascinating there, Megan finished her last sip of coffee. It gave
her exactly the distance she needed to gaze back at him—this time,
without the schoolgirl silliness she'd found herself ensnared in
last night at Hop Kee's
Celestial Kitchen
.

"Coming from you, I suppose that's a
compliment," she said. "Thank you."

"Coming from you, I suppose that's an
acceptance. You're welcome."

Gabriel's smile widened. Suddenly bedazzled
by its effect on her, Megan realized exactly how personal their
conversation had become. At this rate, she'd be giving over the key
to the stage station strongbox without so much as a qualm,
confessing all she knew about her papa's customary trips to
town...maybe even inviting Gabriel to kiss her again.

Soon.

She stared at his mouth, imagining the hot,
hungry pressure of his lips covering hers. Anticipating the expert
stroke of his tongue...needing the pressure of his fingers holding
her steady for the pleasure they would share. His kiss yesterday
had set her atremble with a kind of wanting she'd never known. Now
that she'd tasted it once, Megan had hoped her curiosity would be
assuaged.

Instead, it seemed more aroused than
ever.

Hoping to return to familiarly embattled
ground, she brought her chin up and did her best to appear
unaffected by their closeness.

"All this, from a man who claims not to have
a speck of blarney in his nature?" Smiling, she twisted sideways to
unhook her parasol from the back of her chair. If she were to find
her father—and her nest egg money—before the Webster's patience
gave out, she had to get started again soon.

"I'm amazed, agent Winter," she continued in
a voice rich with disbelief. "The way you carry on, a person would
think you hadn't come here determined to ruin my papa's life—and my
own."

"That person would be right."

Megan raised her eyebrows, not bothering to
hide the skepticism she felt. "I don't see how."

"I've come to find the truth—"

"You've come to hunt down my papa."

"—something you don't seem to take to,
much." Gabriel pulled a folded quantity of money from his suit coat
pocket, counted out enough to pay for their meal, and tossed it
beside McMarlin's untouched plate of pancakes. "The truth, that is.
I never mentioned being at Maiden Lane last night. Not to McMarlin.
Not to you."

Scooping up his hat from the table's edge,
he stood and offered her his hand.

Automatically, Megan took it. His warm,
strong fingers closed around hers and at his touch, a deceptive,
alluring sense of being cared for washed through her. Was this what
it felt like to be noticed, to be wanted, to be beloved?

If so, she could almost understand why women
succumbed to marriage.

Worse, she could almost understand why her
mama had abandoned her family for the sake of it.

Her thoughts raced as Gabriel helped her to
her feet, then escorted her between the dining room tables to the
doorway that led to the hotel lobby. Surely the Pinkerton man had
let slip his plans to visit Doña Carlotta's house and the others'
at some point during their acquaintance.

Hadn't he?

If he hadn't, Megan had no one but herself
to blame for letting the truth of her midnight investigations slip
out. She'd felt betrayed last night, knowing Gabriel had gone
roving with the ladies at Maiden Lane. This morning, she'd let her
sense of unreasonable betrayal goad her into commenting on it.

Drat the man and his indefatigable
memory!