Taking off his hat, he stepped inside and glanced at her dusky pink gown. “It doesn’t look like you’re grieving too much.”
Laughing, she tucked her arm through his, leading him into a parlor crowded with furniture, potted plants, and geegaws atop every surface. “I never was one for conventions.” A man wearing shirtsleeves and a fancy vest rose out of a chair near the fire and reached for his jacket. Lola waved a hand in his direction. “This is Jack Caldwell. He’ll be my representative if the cattle drive actually gets under way. Jack, this is Dal Frisco. You’ve heard me mention him.”
Dal hesitated as long as Caldwell did, then reluctantly they shook hands.
“Sit down, gentlemen,” Lola suggested, smiling and in her element. “Whiskey?” Lifting a tray holding three full glasses, she carried it to the chair Dal had chosen and held it near his face, letting the dark sweet fragrance drift toward his nostrils.
He looked up at her, speaking through his teeth. “No thank you.”
“Oh, that’s right,” she said, turning to offer the tray to Caldwell. “I heard you went off the sauce.” She swept him a look over her bare shoulder. “You sure did used to be a drinking man, Dal honey. We had us some times in those days, didn’t we just?”
She didn’t miss a trick. Her comments were intended to make his throat burn for just one glass of good old times. And she’d left Caldwell seething and wondering if the times she referred to had involved naked flesh and bouncing bed ropes.
When she twitched her skirts out of the way, he took a long look at Jack Caldwell, instantly disliking the man. He would have known that Caldwell was a card fanner even if Luther Moreland hadn’t already told him. Caldwell had the closed expression of a poker or monte player, a man always looking for an edge and the big jackpot. Plus, he had that slick appearance that many gaming men favored. Striped trousers, a maroon vest shot with silver thread, a gold watch chain and a heavy gold ring. Blond hair and mustache completed the picture. Dal wouldn’t have trusted Caldwell to give him the time of day.
“Cut to the chase, Lola,” he said. “Why the summons?”
She sat down and arranged her skirts, then pushed her lips into a pout. “Can’t a girl request an old friend to drop by without being accused of hidden motives?”
“You used me, double-crossed me, damned near got me killed, and then skipped out with the money you owed me.” Sitting this close to her, he could see that powder had collected in the lines spraying out from the corners of her eyes and running from nose to mouth.
“Why, Dal honey, clearly there’s a misunderstanding here.” She waved a hand, airily dismissing his accusations. “Didn’t you get my message? Well, I guess you didn’t. That explains why you never met me in St. Louis like I asked you to. I waited three weeks to give you your share of the money, then I figured you must not have survived the end of the war.”
Dal smiled. “You never left any message.”
He tented his fingers beneath his chin and wondered how in the hell he had ever gotten mixed up with her. Had he been that out of control or that starved for a woman’s company? “Emile Julie is still looking for you. If he or his men find you, they’ll kill you. But I guess you know that.”
“Last I heard, Julie was still looking to kill you, too.” She brought the whiskey glass to her lips with a steady hand, amusement twinkling in her eyes.
A year ago she would have been correct. But the first thing he’d done after he sobered up was decide he was tired of running, tired of Julie’s men tracking him down no matter where he went. Only happenstance had kept him alive long enough to sit down with Julie and buy his way out. The meeting was not a pleasant memory. Pacifying Julie, which meant repaying half of the money Lola had cheated him out of, had cost Dal every cent he could beg or borrow. Julie had wanted him to repay the entire thirty thousand, but Dal had drawn the line at saving Lola’s hide. He was willing to buy his own life, but even if he’d had the money, he would have let Julie kill him rather than pay one cent on Lola’s behalf.
“Julie hasn’t cooled off any,” he said, watching her. “He’s convinced that we ruined his life, destroyed his integrity, and he believes every single person in Louisiana is still laughing about how you and I played him for a fool.”
“That we did,” she said, smugly, preening herself.