Devil's Dare

But how had she gotten from upstairs to out in the street? Either Earp was wrong about her going upstairs, or the saloon had a back stairway, which was more likely.

The woman had to squint to see through the haze of smoke that filled the saloon. She looked in all corners of the room, and it was obvious from her frustrated, worried expression that she hadn’t found who she was seeking.

He was not the only man who had spied her. A pair of cowboys, slouched over beers near the door, had straightened and were just preparing to rise when Sam stepped forward, cutting them off at the pass. If this was his quarry, he wanted to get to her first.

“You seem to be looking for someone, ma’am…may I be of service?” he said, going to the door and motioning her through.

She stared at him, clearly startled, as if she had not seen him approach.

“Sam Houston Devlin, ma’am.” He raised his voice a little to be heard over the piano music, and made a little bow. Gallantry was always a good touch. “May I buy you a drink?”

She glanced at the bar, and at Deacon Paxton standing behind it, then looked quickly back at Sam, shaking her head. “No…I…I am looking for someone just now…my sister…”

He was disappointed that she seemed too preoccupied to have noticed his gallantry, but grinned and said, “Well, then, why don’t you tell me your name, ma’am, and then tell me your sister’s name, and I’ll sure help you find her.” He gave her his biggest, friendliest smile, the smile that had melted the hearts of the belles back home, and occasionally their resistance.

“M-Mercy,” she said, her green eyes round as marbles as she stared up at him as if trying to memorize his features.

Mercy. Mercedes! Hot damn, she was the one! He congratulated himself at finding her at last. Earp should have told him she went by a shortened form of her name. Maybe this night wasn’t over yet. Maybe—just maybe—he could even win the bet tonight. He imagined finding Earp tomorrow and telling him he’d already won the bet. She was still studying him, which meant she apparently found him interesting, and that was a good start.

He winked at her. “Are you begging, or is that your name, darlin’?” he asked her, his drawl caressing and honey sweet.

Mercy stared up at the very man who had been haunting her thoughts most of the day—when she hadn’t been worrying about her errant younger sister, at least—the darkhaired, mustachioed Texan she’d glimpsed through the window of the Frontier Store, the one who’d been standing and watching the saloon girls promenade down Texas Street. And now he was standing right next to her, looking down at her!

She’d thought his eyes would be brown, because of his nearly black hair and mustache, but she noted with surprise that they were blue, the deepest, darkest blue she had ever seen. Blue like the ocean’s depths, she thought, remembering a colored illustration in her mother’s Bible, which had been captioned, “Genesis chapter one, verse two: ‘…And darkness was upon the face of the deep…’“

His lean face was bronzed by the sun, and his eyes had crinkles around them at the outer corners, lines that meant a man was used to being out in the blistering glare of the sun. When she had first seen him outside he had not been smiling, and his eyes had been narrowed against the sun, like the eyes of a wolf; yet now, in the dimmer lamplight, his eyes were no less predatory than they had looked then. And the smile he had leveled on her, a smile that was making her heart thump against the confines of her corset, made him dangerous indeed.

She felt herself blushing as she realized he was making a play on words with her name. The realization brought her out of the rosy haze his presence had produced.

“Mercy is my name, Mr. Devlin,” she explained, a trifle sharply, to make it clear she didn’t find his double entendre amusing.

“Have mercy on me and please, call me Sam,” he responded with an easy grin, as if he hadn’t noticed her sharpness. “I’m right pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Mercy. Sure I can’t buy you a drink before we look for your sister?”

Oh, dear, this was just the very thing she had feared, some cowboy thinking she was one of the girls who worked here! But it was too bad it had to be this man who had acted just like the lecherous demon-Texans her father preached against.

“No, I’m afraid I must find my sister, but thanks all the same. Her name is Charity and she’s blond, and about as tall as I am. Have you seen her? It’s important that I find her immediately. She…she really shouldn’t be here—she’s only fifteen, though she looks a little older,” she added, frowning, glancing away from his face to look around the smoke-filled saloon again. She didn’t see Charity, but there were several other females, a couple of them draped around men playing cards, another sitting in a cowboy’s lap as he openly fondled her, still others paired with cowboys dancing recklessly around the room to the tinkling piano music.

The sight made her realize anew how urgent it was to find her sister—before she got herself into trouble. “Have you seen her?” she repeated, allowing the impatience to show in her voice. “If she isn’t here I’ll have to look elsewhere.”

His smile had vanished as if it had never been, and he looked suddenly unsettled. “You don’t mean Charity Fairweather, do you? Little blonde, about so high?” His hand indicated a height just shorter than Mercy’s own five feet five inches.

Mercy gasped. “Yes, but how do you know her last name? Please, do you know where she is? I must find her right away!”

She heard him swear under his breath. “I had a feelin’ in my bones she was trouble,” he muttered. He took her by the arm—gently enough, but without waiting for her assent. “I think I can find her. Come with me,” he commanded grimly, and headed for the door.

In a few rapid strides he had taken her out of the saloon and under the starry midnight sky. But Sam Devlin did not seem inclined to stop and stargaze. He seemed to have caught her sense of urgency, for she had to nearly run to keep up with him as he rounded the corner and went into the alley that ran behind the Alamo. His spurs made a clinkclinking sound as he strode along.

“Mr. Devlin, please!” she said, panting a little. “Where are you taking me?” It was possible he didn’t know where Charity was at all, she realized, and was merely luring her out into the dark for his own nefarious purposes…

He paused and looked back. “Sorry,” he said, and the moonlight lit up his faint smile. “Forgot you didn’t come equipped with long legs, too.” He indicated his own, which were very long indeed.

She started as they neared a mass huddled up against the back of the building, a mass that writhed and shifted, panted and moaned. Devlin hesitated and peered at the shape, which seemed oblivious to their presence. “Just a courting couple,” he reassured her as he walked her rapidly past it.

Then, when they had reached the far end of the alley, she heard something that sounded like ripping cloth, followed by a squeal of outrage and a ringing slap. Then they heard a girl’s voice—a familiar one to Mercy—cry out, “Now, stop that! Stop that right now, you hear me? Gentlemen do not behave that way!”

“Charity?” Mercy started toward the sound, but not before she heard a man laugh and then say in an amused drawl, “Now, honey, jes’ what gave you the idea I was a gentleman? Now, settle down and give me some more o’ those sugar-sweet lips, sugar—”

Devlin lunged forward at the man’s voice, and a second later Mercy saw him pulling a shorter man out of the shadows. “Let her go, Culhane,” he muttered.

“Aw, boss, what d’ you mean, interruptin’ our spoonin’

like that? I was makin’ out jes’ fine till you came along,” whined the cowboy, pushing back a few strands of tousled yellow hair from his forehead.

“It didn’t sound like it,” Devlin retorted. “Sounded like you weren’t pleasin’ the lady a’tall. Miss, are you all right?” he called into the deep shadows that still hid the girl.

“I…I th-think so,” came a quivery voice.

“Charity!” Mercy cried as the younger girl emerged from the indistinct darkness, clutching the torn ends of her ripped bodice together.

Mercy had only a second to stare at her sister’s disheveled hair, swollen lips and frightened face before Charity hurtled into her arms, weeping.

“Hey, what’s goin’ on here?” the cowboy protested. “Me and the gal, we was jes’ havin’ some fun, boss, I swear it!”

“Oh, Mercy, thank God! I’m so glad you camel” Charity cried against her. “Mercy, I was so afraid! That man, he was going to—he was gonna—”

“Shh,” Mercy soothed her sister. “It’s all right, you’re safe now…” Over her sobbing sister’s head she stared at the two men, wondering what would happen next.

“The girl wasn’t what you thought she was, Tom. She’s just fifteen. Now get on back to the Drover’s Cottage and call it a night,” Devlin commanded.

“But boss—”

“You made a mistake, Culhane,” growled Devlin. “Go on, now. You’re disturbin’ the ladies.”

Culhane started moving, but he fired one last parting shot as he stumbled unsteadily past them. “Huh! She ain’t no lady—I guess I know a whore when I see one! She was kissin’ me real sweet till you came along…”

“Culhane, shut up and get out of here!” Devlin snapped, and applied his boot to the cowboy’s backside to add emphasis.

After watching the Texan banish his drover, Mercy busied herself with wrapping her shawl around Charity’s shoulders, covering her torn bodice. She shushed her sister’s tearful efforts to apologize. There’d be time for that later, but not now, not in front of Sam Houston Devlin, who had now turned back to them and was watching her with hooded, speculative eyes.

“We can’t thank you enough, Mr. Devlin,” she said, trying not to betray the trembling she badly wanted to give in to herself. Charity might well have been raped if the Texan hadn’t found her then. And how had he known where to find her? She hoped there’d be time later to discover that, too. But for now all she wanted to do was to escape the Texan’s knowing gaze and get home and into bed before Papa noticed they were missing.

“Sam, Miss Mercy. The name is Sam, and it was my pleasure to assist you,” he added in that rich, Southern drawl that poured like honey over her heart. “Is she—is she all right? I apologize for my drover’s crude behavior, ma’am. He’s just in off the trail and got a little liquored up tonight. He thought…he thought she was…” He hesitated.

“A whore?” Mercy supplied, inwardly flinching at a word she’d never said out loud before. “No, she’s not. She’s just a foolish girl who didn’t know what she was getting into, I’m afraid. And now,” she concluded in brisk tones, “we must say good-night, and thank you again. Charity?” she prompted.

Charity lifted her head from her sister’s breast. “Ththank you, Mr. Devlin…”

They started to walk away, but Sam Devlin started after them. “I’ll escort you back to your rooms, Miss Mercy,” he informed her. “Wouldn’t want you to meet up with any more drunken cowboys on your way.”