CHAPTER 19

Few things in life surprised Marsh Canton. He seldom underestimated an opponent or was surprised by one. He understood human behavior even when he didn’t much like it—including his own.

But he had been startled when he was summoned back from the Silver Slipper with a whispered message that someone was waiting for him. He was stunned to learn that it was Cat Hilliard waiting in his room.

Nothing, however, prepared him for the impression he suddenly had as she lifted those great green eyes to look at him after his carelessly suggestive words, uttered out of pure astonishment. He deeply regretted them.

Her face was composed, as he had come to expect. And admire. Her eyes didn’t flare this time at his words but were shrouded instead. He had never seen a woman before who could hide her feelings as she did. As he also did. He knew the discipline and control it required.

Yet he was only too aware of tension in her body. That was unusual—not only unusual but, in some way, poignant. If she needed something badly enough to come to him, she needed it very badly indeed.

“Is it Molly?” The sarcasm, the tease, was gone from his voice as his gaze met hers.

Cat found herself surprised that he knew something was wrong when she had tried diligently to hide it. She was usually so good at it. But Canton and she had always been able to see through each other. It was one of those odd things that had always attracted, and repelled, her.

She shook her head. “There’s nothing wrong,” she said.

“I would like to think you’re here because of my charm, but somehow I can’t quite accept that,” he said, watching her face closely.

“You’re right,” she replied in a cold voice. “I have a business proposition.”

Marsh didn’t let his surprise show. Instead he walked over to where she stood and peered down at her. “Business proposition?”

“I find I have to go out of town. I’ve decided to sell the Silver Slipper,” Cat said steadily. “I thought you might be interested.”

Marsh didn’t move. The announcement was too stunning. He tried to think. Why? She had owned the Silver Slipper, from all accounts, nearly two decades. Was it because of him? He didn’t believe that for one moment. He’d sensed she relished the battle as much as he, until that afternoon in his room. That, he knew, wouldn’t result in her surrender. If anything, it would have spurred her on, as he’d thought it had when she’d cut the prices of her drinks.

“Well?” she said abruptly, interrupting his thoughts.

“Are you in such a hurry?”

“I have to leave tomorrow,” she said. “I want it settled before then.”

“Why?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“I think it is,” he said. He looked at her shrewdly. “Is there something wrong with the title?”

Cat glared at him and reached into her pocket. “Here’s the deed,” she said, waiting for him to take it. “If you don’t want to make an offer, say so. I’ll go to someone else.”

“Why come to me first?” He couldn’t keep the suspicion from his voice.

“I thought I could get the best price. No more competition.”

“That sounds like the Catalina Hilliard I know,” Marsh said, partially satisfied. “But the Silver Slipper is worthless without the Ice Queen.”

Cat felt her heart thump. Be calm. “It’s one of the best locations in the city.”

Marsh detected a certain desperation despite her cold demeanor. He wondered why. He wondered even more why he cared. But he did.

“What is it, Catalina?” he asked softly.

Cat was mesmerized by his voice, by his eyes. She’d thought he would jump at the opportunity, but instead she saw concern in his eyes. Curiosity, yes. She had expected that. But concern? It unsettled her.

“I told you,” she said. “I have to leave town. A … a sick relative.”

“A dear old mother?” he asked sarcastically, angry at his own concern. It was none of his business.

“If you have to know, yes,” she said.

“Why don’t I believe that?”

Cat stood. “I don’t care what you believe. Make an offer, or don’t. I’ve had others express an interest. I just thought I would give you first refusal.”

“Out of the goodness of your heart?”

“Yes!”

“You’re a liar.”

“And you’re a scoundrel.”

“It takes one to know one,” he snapped back. “That’s why there are always fireworks between us.”

“There’s nothing between us.”

“Don’t lie to yourself, Miss Cat,” he said as he leaned down, his lips touching hers. She shied away, her anger sparking.

But his hand was on her arm now, and she could go only so far. His lips met hers again, this time insistently. He could feel her tension, the tautness of her body, the determined refusal to respond to him. Yet he felt her tremble slightly, and he wished he knew why. Desire. Dislike. Or the fear he sensed was inside her.

His hand played about her face. “What is it, Catalina?” He repeated the question he’d posed earlier. His voice was soothing, compelling, almost mesmerizing.

I can’t. Despite everything that had happened between them, Cat wanted so much, suddenly, to tell him. Caution stopped her. He would take advantage. Men did that. Except for Ben Abbott, who had not really been her husband, after all. She whimpered involuntarily.

Canton backed off suddenly, the concern in his eyes turning to something hard, then bleak.

He was a stranger again. Hard. Cold. Distant. And Cat knew a depth of despair she hadn’t felt in years. Why had she come here?

She tried to move, but her legs were unsteady, so she stood still, trying to find some balance. “I’m sorry I bothered you,” she said, hating the catch she heard in her own voice.

He watched her for a moment. “What are you going to do now?”

“Find a buyer.”

“You really mean it?”

“No,” she said rudely. “I just came here to be insulted.”

“Cat …”

“Miss Hilliard to you.”

“Miss Hilliard,” he said obediently and in a soothing voice, “what in the hell is going on?”

She gave him a cool look. “I told you.”

“You told me nothing.”

“I told you everything you need to know.”

He sighed. “How much do you want for the Silver Slipper?”

“Ten thousand.” There was a note of hope in her voice that worried him. It was an amazingly low price. In fact, it would be thievery on his part, and now he knew something was wrong.

“I don’t have that kind of money,” he said frankly. “I’ve put everything I have into the Glory Hole.”

The glimmer of hope left her eyes. She shrugged. It was a gallant gesture, but he didn’t believe the implied indifference.

“I might be able to get it,” he said, surprised at himself.

“When?” The sharpness of the question belied her pose.

“I’ll let you know this afternoon.”

Cat hesitated, then said quietly, “I’ll come back.”

“How is Molly?” He’d wanted to take her by surprise, to learn whether this had anything to do with the girl. Had Cat been threatened? He would tear whoever was responsible to pieces. He didn’t even wonder at his rather unexpected protectiveness.

“She’s fine,” Cat said as she tried to move her legs once more. She hesitated for a moment, then thought he should know, just in case anything happened to her. “She’s staying with your Hugh.”

He felt his jaw tightening. “So he is working for you?”

She shook her head. “That was the idea in the beginning, but … he changed his mind.” She tipped her head. “He has a strong sense of loyalty to you.” She hesitated. “Please don’t fire him.”

Ordinarily, he would have left her hanging, although he had no intention of firing Hugh. Hugh was much too valuable, even if his loyalty had been in question. Marsh had grown to like him, too, and to trust him. Up to a point. But now he looked into Cat’s pleading face. “I won’t,” he said.

Strangely, she trusted him in this. Perhaps even in other ways. Perhaps that was why she’d come here. She didn’t like him, she told herself. She didn’t like him at all, but neither did she think he lied. He didn’t have to. He was infuriating enough without lying. She closed her eyes, trying for a fraction of a second to will away that attraction that still lingered between them, that overpowering sexual pull that never went away, no matter what he did or said.

Cat felt his hand on her face again, and she remembered that brief gentleness days ago. She wanted to lean her face into his palm, to forget the panic that was bubbling inside her, threatening to boil up and spread stark desperation through every cell.

And then his lips touched hers with a lightness, a tenderness, that sapped all her resentment. Her lips responded with reckless abandon, a need so strong, she couldn’t harness it. She was losing everything, and she needed this inexplicable drawing of strength from a man who had so much of it. That flicker of concern in his eyes, that calm assurance, was irresistible.

His kiss deepened, and the heat between them became blue hot, like the deepest part of a flame. She felt shudders run through her body, and she hated the way she succumbed so easily to him, the way she craved his nearness.

She wanted to whisper his name, but she wouldn’t give him that weapon. She wouldn’t let him know how very much she needed him.

He took the shawl from her hair, letting it drop on the floor, and his fingers freed the knot she’d so carefully constructed. His lips moved to her ear, and the shudders turned into hot spasms. She struggled against them, finally moving slightly until his lips left the ear he had been nuzzling and he cocked his head, looking at her. “Don’t leave San Francisco,” he commanded softly.

She couldn’t look at him. If she did, she would melt again. And she couldn’t do that. But she let her head fall against his chest, resting there, feeling a sense of belonging that had been missing all her life.

He allowed her to remain like that, his breath light against her hair. Marsh was afraid to move, afraid to break this fragile moment. He held her tightly, but not too tightly. He knew instinctively that she was near a breaking point of some kind, and he felt wanted, trusted—though not trusted enough.

And why should he be trusted? He winced and tightened his arms around her possessively, leaning his head against her dark hair. “Ah, Cat,” he said. “I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

Except me. His thoughts went back once more to that afternoon. He’d done a damn good job of hurting her, and now she didn’t, wouldn’t, trust him, and he couldn’t blame her. He suddenly knew he would find the money to buy the Silver Slipper.

It was Marsh who finally separated them, withdrawing ever so slightly so he could look into her eyes. “I’ll find the money,” he said. “Will you stay on if I do? Manage the Silver Slipper? Buy it back when you can?”

Astonishment stilled her completely. “Why would you do that?”

He chuckled. “I like the challenge of your competition.”

Cat hesitated, and then she liked the idea very much. She liked the idea of not running again, of outsmarting James Cahoon. If he thought she owned the saloon, she would love to see his face when she told him it wasn’t so. She didn’t own the Silver Slipper. She only managed it. She could hide the money due her on the sale, say she gambled it away. But could she trust Canton?

She looked up into his face, trying to find an answer. She had trusted so few times, after Cahoon. Ben, but only after years. And Teddy, again only after a long time. Teddy, dear God. If she left the Silver Slipper, what would happen to Teddy?

Canton’s face was unsmiling as he waited for a decision. Perhaps it was that silence, the lack of questions, a kind of trust he was giving her, despite all their confrontations.

And she was a gambler. She had gambled when she had come to San Francisco. He was offering her a chance to keep what she had. If he was lying to her, if he didn’t return the Silver Slipper, she wouldn’t be any worse off than now. But she did believe him. In this one thing, she did. She still didn’t know why she had faith in him, but she sensed he was a man who kept his word, regardless of the other things he did. And this way she could take care of Teddy.

“All right,” she said.

“A deal?”

She smiled. A small smile, but a smile nonetheless. “A deal.”

He thought he had never seen anything quite as lovely as her smile. It had been a very long time since anyone had smiled at him like that.

Marsh leaned down and kissed her lightly. “Do you want to stay here while I see what I can do about finding ten thousand dollars?”

She shook her head. She still had Molly to think of. The Pinkerton detective. Sweet Lucifer, but she was late. Very, very late. And then the bank. She had to take out everything she had in the bank and put her cash under another name.

“I have a few errands,” she said. “I’ll come back.”

“Will you be all right?”

She was surprised again. He obviously sensed something was wrong, and yet he still asked no questions. She lifted her chin. “Of course.”

He went to one of his drawers and took out a small gun. “This is a derringer. Do you know how to use one?”

She nodded. “I have one at the Silver Slipper.”

“I’ll remember that,” he said, a crooked grin on his face.

“Is that what you were trying to find out?”

He shrugged, leaving the question unanswered. But she knew he wasn’t afraid of anything.

“Thank you, anyway,” she said.

Marsh hesitated. He wanted to ask more, but questions would probably only make her bolt. Christ, what was wrong? He could always sense fear. Like death. “Would you like an escort?”

Cat hesitated, then shook her head. She needed to get away from Canton. He was too close. He made her braver than she should be at this moment.

She turned away from him and went to the mirror, rearranging her hair and putting the shawl back over her head. He watched, then said quietly, “Then let’s share a carriage. I have to go out too.”

Cat wondered how he sensed her reluctance to go back into the street. But then he’d surprised her completely today, as he usually did.

Both were silent as they went outside, and he found a carriage for hire. He helped her in, asked her destination, and made no comment when she mentioned her bank. His presence in the carriage was both comforting and disconcerting. Something had changed between them. A small element of trust. Tentative. Fragile. Not yet the kind to be tested by assurances or questions.

Cat leaned back against the cushion of the carriage, feeling his knee touch her, knowing the same poignant wanting she always did with him, only now there was something else, something that made her inexplicably shy and uncertain. He had offered help, asking for nothing in return. She refused to offer anything, for fear it would be misunderstood as it had before.

“A business proposition,” he said suddenly, as if reading her mind. “Nothing else, Miss Cat.”

She felt a now-familiar tremor, tremors that often preceded earthquakes. Disasters. Would anything between them just be a business proposition?

“I still don’t understand why—”

“I expect to make a profit on it.” He grinned. “Don’t worry yourself, Miss Hilliard.”

“Are you sure you can get the money?”

“I’m not sure about anything, Miss Cat,” he said, making his reply light and slightly mocking. “Especially when I’m around you, but I would think so.” He wished he was as confident as he sounded. He had damned little money left. All he had was the Glory Hole. Collateral.

Hell, he was getting bored, anyway. He was never meant for the peaceful life of a business owner.

Cat withdrew all but one hundred dollars from her account. She had already considered her next move. A different bank where she wasn’t known, a different name. She didn’t dare keep the cash.

But that infernal sketch in the paper.

Perhaps the detective could help … if he would even see her now.

She was just a few blocks from his office, and she walked swiftly, only too aware of the money in her reticule, which, despite the large-denomination bills, still felt stuffed.

Cat found the office tucked on the second floor of a building on a side street. Unpretentious for such a famous agency, she thought, and remembered Quinn Devereux’s words. Completely trustworthy. Discreet.

She tried the door, found it open, and walked in. There were several desks, a young man sitting behind one of them. He looked up as she entered. “Can I help you?”

“Mr. Templeton,” she said. “I had an appointment.… I know I’m very late but …”

He nodded. “Mr. Templeton is still here.” He rose and knocked at a door, entering at, a muffled sound, then returned. “Miss Hilliard?”

Cat nodded.

“He’ll see you.”

Cat moved toward the door and entered.

A man behind a desk rose and came to meet her. “I’m Booth Templeton. I’ve heard a lot about you, Miss Hilliard,” he said, and grinned as Cat winced slightly. “From Mr. Devereux,” he added with a wink. “All very interesting and complimentary. Now, how can I help you?”

Cat hesitated. “I’m sorry I’m late … something came up.”

“That’s all right,” the detective said as he went around to his chair behind the desk. “Please sit down.”

Cat didn’t feel like sitting. She was too restless, but she found a straight chair and forced herself to sit. “Mr. Devereux said you were very … reliable,” she said, wanting to get some kind of impression of her own. Her initial one was confidence. The Pinkerton man had a solid kind of face, the kind one tended to trust. Intelligent brown eyes that probed while giving little away. They weren’t shuttered like Canton’s, as if protecting secrets, but more like reserving judgment. Eyes that weighed without judging.

“I’ve … we’ve done some work for Mr. Devereux,” Templeton said.

Cat hesitated. “Did you see the story in the paper a few days ago? The shooting in front of the Silver Slipper.”

He nodded.

“The young lady involved … believes her father was behind it. She’s terrified of him, and although she won’t say why, I think I can guess at least some of it.” She hesitated, wondering whether he would understand.

“How old is she?”

“Nineteen.”

“He’s still her rightful guardian, then?”

Cat nodded.

“What can we do?”

“She … Molly … thinks he’s been responsible for her friends being hurt, perhaps even killed. A maid named Glynneth, who tried to help her. She just disappeared.”

“Why does she think something happened to her?”

“The girl, Glynneth, was betrothed and very much in love. She never said anything to her fiancé before disappearing. Others … were beaten.”

“And you want me to find this maid? Or try to find out what happened to her?”

Cat nodded. “And see what else you can find out about … my friend’s father.”

“Who is this man?”

Cat hesitated. “Will you take the case?”

He studied her for a moment. “A prominent man?”

Cat nodded again. “A banker in Oakland.”

“Do you want to tell me what you suspect?”

“I think he’s … abused her in ways a father shouldn’t.”

“That’s damn hard to prove. Begging your pardon, Miss Hilliard.”

“I know,” Cat said. “That’s why you need to start with Glynneth. And perhaps follow him. If I know his kind, Molly’s not the only young girl he’s used.”

The detective’s eyes grew harder. “Unfortunately, I think you’re right.” He hesitated, watching her carefully. “I’ll have to talk to the girl.”

Cat expected that. “I’ll arrange it, but I doubt she’ll tell you much. She … well, it’s very difficult.”

Templeton’s face softened. “I understand.”

Cat liked the emotion on his face. He would be careful, and yet he would have a measure of compassion. He was the man she wanted. “Now how much …”

“One hundred to start,” he said.

“Done,” Cat said. “There’s something else.”

He merely waited for her to continue.

“Mr. Devereux said I could trust you. Completely.”

He waited for her to continue.

“I want to put a sizable amount of money in an account under another name. I’m … too well known. Can you act as my agent?”

“Is it against the law?”

She shrugged. “I don’t think so. It’s my money. But a … relative I thought dead has just shown up.”

“Husband?” he guessed.

Cat winced. She didn’t want to think of Cahoon as her husband. The thought alone was sickening. “He’s a gambler. He’ll take everything and lose it.”

“You’ll trust me?”

“I trust Mr. Devereux.”

“Smart lady.” He hesitated, then seemed to make a decision. “I’ll deposit if for you. Name of … Kelly Edwards. That could be a man or woman. I’ll write you a receipt for it. I’ll get back to you on the other matter as soon as possible.”

Cat spent nearly an hour with him, giving him the details about Molly, telling him to contact Teddy if he couldn’t reach her. And finally, turning over to him the money she’d just taken from the bank.

She felt better as she left his office, even as she realized that she was doing an awful lot of trusting all of a sudden. For someone who had done precious little of that in the past years, it was astounding to her.

And not just a little frightening.

“You want to do what?”

David Schuyler Scott seemed to remember he’d had a similar conversation before with this particular client. But then Marsh Taylor Canton never ceased to amaze him.

“I’m buying the Silver Slipper,” Marsh explained again. “But I want it in writing that I’ll sell it back.”

“For the same price?”

Marsh shrugged.

“What happened to the feud?”

“I don’t think that’s changed any,” Marsh said with a slight grin.

“You wouldn’t care to tell me what’s going on?”

“No.”

David surrendered. It wasn’t his business. All he could do was advise and assist. He’d discovered this particular client wanted none of the first.

“I’ll have it ready in an hour.”

Marsh’s next stop was his bank. He used Quinn Devereux’s name as a reference, and that got him into the vice president’s office. He pledged the Glory Hole as collateral for a ten-thousand-dollar loan. The banker was obviously curious, but Devereux had initially steered Marsh to him, and Devereux was one of the bank’s wealthiest clients. And the banker had been impressed with what Mr. Canton had done with the Glory Hole. He promised to have the money the next day.

As Marsh walked back to Scott’s office, he realized it was the first time since the war that he had done anything for anyone—without getting paid for it.

Molly was happier than she had ever been. She loved children. She loved caring for them. She particularly liked Hugh and Elizabeth’s rambunctious imps.

Molly had been shy at first when she’d arrived at Hugh O’Connell’s home a week earlier, but she couldn’t be shy long as children crawled into her lap and smeared wet kisses on her. They were five in number, soon to be six, and totally uninhibited, obviously used to being loved by their parents and “Uncle Teddy.” They were like little steps when they stood beside each other, which wasn’t often, because they had too much energy to stay still long enough even to line up.

They had accepted her unconditionally. She was “Uncle Teddy’s friend, Aunt Molly.”

Not only had she warmed to the love in the house, but she had felt needed. Elizabeth O’Connell was nearing the time of birth, and though she denied it, Molly could tell she tired easily. Molly had taken over as though born to it. She could watch over the children, dress them, play with them, put them to bed, say prayers with them. She was even learning a little bit about cooking.

At the morning meal Hugh would linger, talking about the night before at the Glory Hole. He would discuss politics and gossip and who had gone bust, a frequent occurrence in San Francisco, where fortunes were being made and lost at dizzying speeds. Hugh was uncommonly thoughtful of his wife. Molly had never seen two people who really cared about each other before; she hadn’t, in fact, believed that people really loved each other.

Teddy had joined them several times. There was some strain at first between the two men, but then it had seemed to disappear. Molly enjoyed watching Teddy eat, then light his pipe. She warmed to the way he winked at her when one of the children climbed all over him and the cozy, safe way she felt when he was around.

Then several nights ago, on Sunday when both Hugh and Teddy were off, Teddy had taken her for a walk.…

She’d enjoyed his respectful touch on her arm, the way it made her tingle inside. She had never thought she would like a man touching her, but there was something warm and affectionate and safe about Teddy’s touch that made her heart thump in a happy way. She found herself looking forward to his visits, not just as a friend, but as someone she cherished being with.

The fear was still with her, but she had been able to push it aside during the day, during the times she was busy. At night, however, it always came back. Night was always when it had happened, when he came to her bedroom. She wondered whether she would ever welcome night, instead of fearing it so.

Teddy tried to reassure her. Miss Catalina was taking steps, he said, so her father couldn’t come after her. He didn’t say what those steps were, but she had a great deal of faith in Miss Catalina. She was so strong. She wasn’t afraid of anything. Molly remembered Miss Catalina talking to her, telling her, “I was born in a brothel.… My mother sold me when I was thirteen.”

Those words had helped. If Miss Cat had overcome something like that, then Molly could too. She didn’t even feel like Mary Beth anymore. She was Molly, who’d had the strength to run away, who’d defied her father, who’d made friends. And now who felt needed. And capable. And wanted.

And she did so look forward to Teddy’s visits, to those walks with him. She looked up at him now, feeling his eyes on her. Brown and warm. He treated her so gingerly, as if she were a piece of crystal easily broken.

“Molly,” he said tenderly, “Catalina’s going to talk to a Pinkerton detective about your father. You’ll probably have to talk to him.”

Molly felt the usual sickness rise in her at the thought of her father. Teddy’s eyes were steady, expectant, and she would die before she disappointed him. If he and Catalina cared enough to take chances for her, to defy her father, then she could do no less, even if she had to talk about what had happened.

She nodded and was rewarded with a smile. She suddenly discovered she wanted more from him than a smile. She saw him swallow hard, a muscle moving in that face that was becoming so dear to her, his face moving down toward her until …

He stopped just as his lips were about to reach hers. Stopped. Hesitated. Retreated. Shaking his head as if in disbelief at his own action.

“Teddy …”

He closed his eyes for a fraction of a second as if pleading with a higher being, then opened them again. “Don’t look at me that way,” he said, a catch in his voice.

“Why?”

“Dammit,” he said angrily. “I’m too old for you.”

Molly saw his jaw work. “Sometimes,” she said, “I feel a hundred years old.”

One of his big hands went up to her chin, his hard fingers caressing it. “You have your whole life ahead of you.”

“Only because of you and Miss Catalina.”

“Gratitude,” he muttered. “That’s what you feel. All you feel.”

She shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

“I’m old enough to be your father,” he said roughly, and saw her face blanch. He could have kicked himself. Worse. He wished he could bang his thick head against a brick wall.

His expression must have shown his self-disgust because one of her small hands wound its way into the fist that had fallen from her face. “You’re nothing like him,” she said fiercely.

He felt that small trusting hand, its fingers clinging to his, and the self-disgust faded. He felt as if someone had given him the greatest gift in the world, and yet it wasn’t a gift he could accept. She deserved much more than a broken down ex-fighter.

He had watched as she laughed with the children, that sad, wistful look disappearing for those brief moments as the peal of her laughter decorated the room. He had watched as she so carefully assisted Elizabeth with the meal, her face furrowed in concentration. He had watched her bandage a cut on small Betsy’s hand with unabashed sympathy as if she felt the hurt herself. She was a gentle creature, too gentle for a great oaf like himself. Too gentle and fragile and wounded.

But he couldn’t help but think what it would be like, living with her. Sharing things. Looking across a table at her. He felt a hurtful ache inside at the thought. He knew he dare go no further with such ideas. He would drive himself crazy.

“I’d better take you home,” he said roughly.

Home, Molly thought. Hugh and Elizabeth’s was as close to one as she’d ever had. She’d never really known what the word meant until she’d come to live with them. A place of warmth and love. A place to laugh and care. And have people care about her.

Someone like Teddy. She admired him so much. His gruff gentleness with Hugh’s children. His competence at the Silver Slipper. His protectiveness of everyone there. His sharp and decisive mind, though she knew few realized exactly how sharp under that rough exterior. He seemed to want it that way, though Molly had seen the number of times Miss Catalina had sought his advice.

But she didn’t know how to break that reserve of his, how to let him know how much she liked and admired him. And cared in other ways too.

Canton was back at the Glory Hole when Cat arrived. He was leaning against the bar, looking relaxed. Yet the gun was strapped to his waist, and as always, Cat sensed that outlaw spirit lurking beneath the lazy pose. He turned to the man tending bar, said something, then strode over to her, that slight, indecipherable smile on his lips. “I think we’ve some business to discuss.”

Hope sprang up in her. Hope and yet a kind of despair. She felt his hand on her arm. Strong. Firm. She allowed him to lead the way to his room. The dog was inside, and he growled at being disturbed. Marsh shrugged. “The ordinance about shooting strays … I’ve been trying to keep him inside.”

Glad for a brief reprieve, a subject away from her current troubles, Cat went over to Win, stooped, and regarded the dog as steadily as he regarded her. All of a sudden Win turned over on his side, exposing his stomach to her, and she rubbed it gently. Win growled. But it wasn’t exactly a threatening growl. The dog simply didn’t know any other sound to make, Cat surmised.

“I’ll be damned,” Marsh said, and Cat turned her head. “The cursed animal has barely allowed me to touch it.” The chagrined look on his face made her smile, although she knew it was probably a very stiff smile. She felt so brittle at the moment, so tense. If anyone touched her, she feared she would shatter into hundreds of pieces. She had been doing one thing after another, automatically, as if it were someone else doing them. Each had kept her from returning to the Glory Hole and then to the Silver Slipper, from confronting what eventually had to be confronted: her past.

Now she had to face something else. Canton and his proposal. Canton, who made her blood run hot and her anger rush cold.

She stood, facing him. “Are you going to accept my offer?”

“Yes,” he said simply.

“Do you have the money?”

“I will tomorrow.”

Cat struggled to keep the disappointment from showing. Her hand touched the deed in her pocket. She couldn’t take it back to the Silver Slipper with her. She wanted it in Canton’s possession tonight, so there could be no proof that she’d known her husband was still alive when she sold it. But could she trust Canton?

His dark eyes flickered in the light of the late-afternoon sun seeping into the room. “You want it now?” His words were curiously soft, that southern accent she’d detected at their first meeting more pronounced than she’d ever heard it.

She nodded.

“You believed I had that kind of money at hand?”

She inclined her head.

“Sorry to disappoint you, darlin’. But I had to borrow it.” He didn’t know why he explained. Now she would probably guess he’d used the Glory Hole as collateral. But he had seen that stricken look, that sudden panic in her eyes.

Cat was jolted. “The Glory Hole?”

He nodded, and she didn’t doubt him for a moment. He was risking the Glory Hole for her. She just stood there. “Why?” The question came out flatly.

He turned away from her and walked to the window, staring out.

“Why?” she repeated.

“It’s a good investment,” he said.

“You don’t even know why I want to sell.”

He turned abruptly. His face was grim in a way she’d never seen it before. He’d always worn that slight smile which disguised his thoughts. “If you want to tell me, you will. I’ll have the money tomorrow. You have to trust me on that. In the meantime I had my lawyer prepare an agreement.” He walked over to the bureau and picked up a paper, then handed it to her.

Cat scanned it quickly, then again more slowly, her eyes widening as she looked up at him. “You … didn’t have to do this.”

“I thought it would make you feel better.”

“Why do you care how I feel?” The grim set of his mouth didn’t change as he regarded her without answering. “Canton …?”

“What?”

“Why … why do you care how I feel?”

“You’ve made life interesting, darlin’,” he said, trying to insert mockery into the words.

It didn’t quite work. There was an element of concern he couldn’t hide, and Cat sensed it surprised him as much as it did her. She tried to remember the other afternoon, the one during which he so effectively stripped the hide from her.

“Who can I best if you’re gone?”

“You haven’t done that yet,” she retorted, but there was little sting in her voice.

“You see,” he said, “that’s why.”

Cat looked down at the paper again. It was simple enough. She recognized the attorney’s name and remembered her earlier reaction when she discovered David Scott was Canton’s attorney. One of the few honest lawyers in the city. The agreement, already signed by M. Taylor Canton, stated that Canton was purchasing the Silver Slipper for ten thousand dollars. It said further that Canton, or any subsequent owner, agreed to sell back the Silver Slipper at no more than ten thousand dollars upon demand by Catalina Hilliard within a three-year period.

It further stipulated that Catalina Hilliard would operate the Silver Slipper and keep ninety percent of the profits.

The agreement, signed and witnessed, was generous in the extreme. It meant that Canton couldn’t sell the Silver Slipper from under her without the subsequent purchaser agreeing to the same terms for three years. No one, she knew, would buy a property under those conditions.

“You didn’t have to do this,” she said. “I would have sold you the Silver Slipper without it.”

Now his body was tense. He didn’t like the questions. He most definitely didn’t want gratitude. He had only wanted to alleviate some of that desperation he’d felt in her earlier. And he would lose nothing. The ten percent in profits would more than cover his interest.

But he knew his action went deeper. Much deeper. He didn’t want her to leave. Not San Francisco. Not the Silver Slipper. Not this room.

The walls closed in on them. His hand touched her hair, gently urging her head toward him, and those startling green eyes were intent on him, watching, still obviously wondering whether to trust.

Christ, it had been so long since he had even wanted trust. Now he did. And he was afraid to show it, afraid she would throw it in his face as he had thrown her trust away days ago in this very room.

That knowledge was a raw sore in his gut. He wanted her. And that want had grown into obsession. A splendid obsession until something ugly inside him had refused to accept it, had taken and twisted it to better meet his bitter expectations of life.

Her fear earlier, mixed with that fierce, determined pride to do what had to be done, had touched him in ways no one had since before the war. Made him feel protective, for God’s sake. Made him risk the one thing that had given him a little self-respect again. But what good was the Glory Hole without Cat Hilliard across the street?

He wanted to kiss her, to enclose her body in his arms, and then to make love to her. But how could he? How could he not expect her to misunderstand this time, to think he was demanding payment? He had been neatly caught in his own trap, and every part of his body and mind was paying for it now.

Marsh leaned over and kissed her lightly. He placed his hand on her shoulder and felt his own fingers shake. Shake with efforts to keep from drawing her toward the bed, from clasping her close to him.

He’d never wanted anything in his life as much as to do that.

His hand went up, his fingers tracing a line down the fine contours of her face. She was absolutely still, and he didn’t know what she was thinking. She was as damn good at hiding her feelings as he had trained himself to be. He wondered again why. Why did she guard herself so? Why all the contradictions in her?

“Cat,” he said in a low voice. “I’m sorry … the other afternoon.” And he was. If he could take those words back, even at the price of one knife wound for each sick word, he would. But he’d never apologized before, not since the war, and the words were rusty. Thick. Almost choking.

He recognized the awkwardness of the words, and it cut a painful swath through him. For what he had been. For what he had become. For what he wanted to be now, not knowing whether it was possible. Need, that had nothing to do with lust, filled him with a completeness that was agonizing. How do you grab a moment and keep it? How do you take back unforgivable words? How can you change a soul that has ceased to exist in any meaningful way because it couldn’t tolerate the things you had done?

Filled with a kind of pain he didn’t know how to alleviate, he turned abruptly away from her.

He wanted to do so much for her. He wanted to run out and slay whatever dragon was haunting her. Now, that really was a new path. An uncharted one. Yet he knew her well enough to know she wouldn’t share this dragon with him. He waited. He waited for her to accept the agreement. He waited for her to respond to his rough apology, but she seemed as frozen as he.

“It doesn’t matter what you said the other day,” she finally replied, apparently in answer to the latter.

He turned to face her again. “It does. It does to me.”

“There was some truth in your … observation,” she said with a dismissive shrug, but something terribly sad lurked in her eyes, a glimpse, for once, of the complicated lady inside. Marsh felt worse, knowing that somehow that day he had dealt a blow much stronger than intended.

He reached out, his hand touching her arm lightly. “Ah, Cat, I don’t know whether we’re the worst thing that happened to each other, or the best. Or whether it’s too late for either of us. I just know no one has ever affected me as you do. It tends to bring out the demon in me. I don’t quite know what to do with it.”

“Canton unsure of himself?”

Her words made him wince. He hated the image of uncertainty. He hated the fact of uncertainty. He hated it being applied to himself. Nonetheless, he decided on honesty. Nothing else would work with her. And even that might not. “Perhaps. A little.”

Cat smiled a tremulous, breathtaking smile he hadn’t seen before. Perhaps, he thought, honesty had a lot going for it.

Marsh swallowed. She had never been more desirable. And she had been very desirable indeed. He leaned down, his lips skimming along hers, waiting for an invitation.

It didn’t come. He couldn’t stem a tide of disappointment. And frustration. Yet he couldn’t blame her … not after his last performance in this room. But he knew she wasn’t unaffected. She was tense, and she couldn’t hide the very slight trembling of her hand, the sudden fire in her eyes.

He admired her control, even though it tormented him. But then he admired a great deal about her. More each day, in fact, and never more so than now.

Marsh stepped back, not wanting her to think her response, or lack of it, had anything to do with his offer. It was one of the most difficult things he had ever done in his life, but he’d earned this particular punishment. “Take it,” he said of the agreement.

Cat stared at it a moment as if trying to remember what it was, and then she carefully folded it and put it in her reticule.

It had been difficult, so damned difficult, not to respond seconds earlier, when his lips feathered her cheek, the sensitive area around her eyes. He had been waiting for a response, she knew, and she also knew she couldn’t give it. She would never again put herself in the position she had days ago. She wouldn’t thank him with her body, wouldn’t let him think again that it was so easily sold these days.

But, sweet Lucifer, how she wanted to.

Cat had already decided she would face James Cahoon tonight. She wouldn’t, couldn’t, put it off. She would do it, though, in her own time under her own precautions.

Suddenly decided, she pulled out the deed to the Silver Slipper. She looked up into dark-gray eyes that now looked puzzled. “You will have the money tomorrow?”

He nodded.

Cat took a deep breath. She would rather Canton have the Silver Slipper than James Cahoon. “If anything happens to me, you’ll see that Teddy gets the money,” she said. “Your word on it?”

His hand went to her arm again. “What might happen, Cat?”

She shrugged. “Probably nothing. Do you have pen and ink?”

He nodded and fetched both from a drawer, then watched quizzically as she took out a paper from a pocket in her dress, unfolded it, and quickly scribbled her name on the deed. “Hugh can witness this,” she said.

Marsh took it from her, staring in astonishment at the deed to the Silver Slipper. She had signed it over to M. Taylor Canton. “Are you … sure?”

“No,” she said honestly. “But it’s the only thing I can do now.”

“Cat?”

She stiffened against the concern in his voice. “I expect the money tomorrow.”

“What’s wrong, Cat?” His question was raw now.

“The past,” she said simply. “I can handle it.”

Marsh felt sick. If he hadn’t been such an ass, perhaps … But looking at her face, he knew he wouldn’t learn any more. “If you need anything …”

“I won’t,” she said abruptly, “except your word about Teddy.”

“You have it.”

Cat forced herself to move toward the door when, more than anything, she wanted to go into his arms. She wanted to drink in his strength. She wanted the gentleness she’d tasted for such a short time. She wanted so much, but not enough to destroy herself for it.

First James. And then she would deal with Canton.

She turned toward the door and moved, hearing a low growl behind her. She glanced down. The dog had risen and was baring his teeth. “Fierce thing, aren’t you?” she whispered. “Maybe I can learn to do that.”

“You already do,” Canton said. His voice was low and intimate … and even admiring. She looked at him suspiciously, but then the expression changed to something more hesitant. “Thank you,” she said stiffly.

It was as awkwardly said as his apology. Another rarity?

“Be careful, darlin’,” he said, wanting to say more but knowing this was not the right time.

“I’m always careful.” Except with you.

He nodded. It hurt to watch her leave, but he had little choice. She had made her wishes known, and he respected them.

All the same, he planned to keep an eye on the Silver Slipper tonight. A very close eye.