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"That right," the older rancher said. He sounded a little surprised, but it was only a moment before he'd re-calibrated the situation. She wasn't being silent out of deference. She was letting her man control the situation because she had him in hand, and he spoke with her mouth.
"The name might have been fake. I don't know. But he says his name was Rod Dawson. Wore a light-colored coat… cloth, not leather. Heavy coat. Red hair. Blue eyes, I think. About this high."
He put a hand a few inches over his own head. Avery Beck was not a short man, which meant that Rod Dawson was downright tall.
"Thank you, sir." Glen's hand went up to signal the waitress. She came over, and Avery ordered his food.
Glen did Catherine's share of the drinking. He wasn't sure what the man's game was. He wasn't wearing clothes like he needed someone else to buy him dinner. Until there was proof it was something else, he assumed that the man was looking for some company.
That being said, he knew that there wasn't much evidence in either direction. He'd have to stay on his toes, because if there was a trick, then the carpet could come out from under them at any moment. He took the risk to drink, though. The man's taste was good, and he could afford it. If this was all it cost to get the information he needed…
"You'd be willing to testify to all this in a court of law?"
The old rancher smiled a crooked smile. "'Course."
"Good."
The dinner went by slow. The man had nothing to say, and Glen was being careful with his words. The only thing he wouldn't see coming from the man, if it happened, would be if he was fishing for information.
He was careful not to give his name, and he was exceptionally careful to confuse the relationship between him and Catherine. Anything he could do to get the attention off the reasons for his presence there would help.
He could feel the drink going to his head, and finally he stood back from the table. "I think I need to find a room, boss. I'm—ah, feeling it a little."
Glen let a smile touch his lips, not realizing that he'd already been smiling a little since his gaze fell on Catherine. He put down a ten-dollar bill. That should cover it, he figured.
The hotel next door was heaven sent. He could still walk, and if he focused, he could do it looking mostly normal. But if he'd had to go far, well, it would have gotten interesting.
He rang the bell at the front, waited for someone to come and help him.
"I need two rooms, please," he said, a little louder than he had intended.
"One night?"
"That's right."
"That'll be six dollars," came the answer.
Glen fished out the money. The alcohol was hitting him harder than he had figured.
Catherine took the billfold from his hand and counted out the money, pushed it across the counter. Glen watched her take the keys from the man, and started to make his way for the stairs.
He could still walk, and he was in control of himself. Mostly. When his toe caught on the stair, though, he took a spill and Catherine wrapped her arms around him. Apparently she thought he was drunk.
She dragged him into the first room, helped him into the bed. She even knelt down in front of him, helped ease his boots off his feet. He hadn't realized how badly they ached.
"You alright?"
Not exactly, he thought. He was missing something. Forgetting to say something important.
Oh, right.
He stood up and wrapped his arms around the beautiful woman he'd had his arms around for the last five days, and took another kiss from her. This time nobody was going to interrupt them.
Sixteen
Catherine's eyes shot open when she felt him pull her in close, but by the time his lips pressed into hers, she had already figured things out well enough.
She should have pushed him away. She should have told herself not to enjoy it. She didn't. She wanted it as much as he did, and she wasn't going to deny herself. She let his lips trace the line of her jaw, enjoying the pleasure when he kissed her neck.
