Free Between Love and Lies by Jacqui Nelson

walls, the shade of a dying rose. A window aglow with late morning light snagged her attention. Beyond the thin curtain and cracked glass came the rattle of wagons and the clomp of hooves. A steady, rhythmic song of life. A life outside her cage. A life still beyond her reach.
    She was in her bedroom above the Star. Nothing had changed…except for the homey scent of soap and leather tickling her nose. More memories skimmed her mind. A rock-hard strength and warmth holding her, followed by an unwavering sense of security.
    Curling her fingers into her blanket, she pulled it closer. The scents that had danced through her mind grew stronger: beeswax saddle soap and not only leather but wool. Something thick and unfamiliar lay under her hand.
    Noah’s sheepskin coat was draped over her. How did it get in her room?
    Understanding dawned. Noah had been here. He’d killed Davenport. After she’d collapsed, he must’ve carried her upstairs, placed her on her bed, and left his coat to keep her warm. Yesterday it had clung to his broad shoulders; now it hugged her body making her skin tingle.
    Smoothing a hand down the length of the garment, she imagined Noah’s strength under it.
    She jerked her hand back. This was madness. Noah, and the hope he infused in her, increased the risk of discovery or worse. Davenport’s death was a stark reminder of her precarious position.
    What did Noah want? She didn’t know. All she knew was she couldn’t trust him.
    You can’t trust anyone, she reminded herself. Her father had used her, first to tend the farm and then to pay his drinking and gambling debts. Gertie had sold her to the highest bidder and now held onto her for her voice, her card dealing skills and the hope that one day she would recover…then the madam would sell her again.
    Noah had tried to fix the damage he’d done with money, then ridden away. Now he was back. He couldn’t bed her, so why did he continue hanging around the Star? He was too inquisitive. What if he unraveled her lies and exposed her secrets? What if Gertie found out?
    One of Edward’s favorite sayings came to mind. You can’t bluff if your opponent knows the cards you hold.
    Failing would mean betraying Edward and all he’d done for her. All he’d promised to do as well. He’d agreed to pay Gertie whatever price she asked to let him take Sadie with him when he and his partner, Orin, left Dodge. Then Edward had died a painful death.
    She hadn’t been able to help him or herself.
    It was common knowledge that she’d been the one to find him, in his hotel room at the Great Western—in a pool of his own blood, a suicide note in one hand, a pistol in the other. What everyone in Dodge didn’t know was that when her shock sent her crashing to her knees beside him, Edward’s eyes had opened.
    He hadn’t been dead. Not quite.
    “Find them,” he’d whispered.
    Hope had shot through. For an instant she’d thought she could save him. He’d been the one person in town who’d helped her, the only one she counted as a friend. It was unthinkable that she might not be able to help him in return.
    She’d jumped to her feet. “I’ll find the doctor.”
    “Too late.” His eyes had beseeched her to stay. “I caught her robbing my—” His breathing had grown labored and when he spoke again, his words had tumbled out in harsh gasps. “Don’t let her keep them. Steal them back. Use them to leave Dodge. Promise me you’ll find—my father’s watch—my mother’s box.” His breath hissed between his teeth. “My letter.”
    She’d glanced at the piece of paper clenched in his hand, then back at his face.
    Anger twisted his features. “Not—mine. Not—” His entire body spasmed. “Not suicide.” He stared past her, his eyes bulging with pain and fear.
    She’d wrapped her hands around his, so he’d know he wasn’t alone. “I’m here. I’ll help you. I promise.”
    His eyes had flared even wider and then closed.
    “No! Stay with me. Talk to