Beauty and the Bounty Hunter (7 page)

Cat stripped out of her boy’s clothes and shoved those at Alexi too. He’d dispose of the evidence, probably in her own fire. Then, wearing only her underthings, she ran to the tent and ducked inside. Not an instant too soon. Seconds later the steady beat of horses’ hooves drifted on the night and someone hailed the camp.

Cat’s gaze swept the interior, lighting on the valise where she’d once stored her costumes sitting atop Alexi’s bed. She couldn’t believe he’d kept it for over a year. She tore through, pulling out a brightly colored skirt with many flounces that ended well above the ankle. Cat found an equally bright blouse that dipped low enough to distract just about anyone.

Add large Gypsy earrings that would sparkle and twirl and capture every gaze, then scrub some water through her hair until it appeared tousled by lustful hands and slap on a bit of makeup to darken the skin. Her light green eyes were a problem. But if she kept them cast down and let her hair fall over them, maybe in the dusky light—only one lantern burned within the tent—they’d mistake her for someone Alexi had picked up south of the Rio Grande.

Thanks to Alexi, her Spanish was quite good, and what she didn’t know, she’d invent. She doubted anyone in a Missouri posse would notice.

“Everyone out of the wagons and tent!” The man sounded like he meant business. Whoever the fool in
the alley had been, he seemed to have good friends indeed.

Cat peered into a hand mirror. The woman gazing back smiled seductively. She shoved her blouse off of one shoulder, tugged the waist of the skirt a little higher to reveal more of her calf. She just might do.

“Exactly who are you searching
for
, gentlemen?” Alexi sounded half asleep, as if he could care less who invaded his camp or rifled his property.

“Cat O’Banyon.”

Ah hell.
Cat recognized the voice. Obviously she hadn’t hit the man in the alley hard enough.

Alexi began to laugh. “The bounty hunter? Why would he be here?”

“Word is that O’Banyon’s a woman who likes to dress as a boy.”

“You think a woman could get the drop on all those desperate characters?” Alexi’s voice dripped with scorn. “I heard that in Abilene three men caught Cat O’Banyon red-handed, chased
him
for thirty miles. Although…”

He drew the word out, and even Cat, who knew Alexi’s tricks, found herself leaning forward in expectation of what he might say next.

“The man is quite clever,” Alexi continued. “What better way to throw everyone off the trail than to pretend to be a woman?”

Silence descended. Cat held her breath, hoping that Alexi’s talent at lies had saved them again. She should never have made the idiot in the alley say the words. That must have been what gave her away. But she hadn’t been able to help herself.

“Doesn’t matter,” the leader said at last. “Even if the woman we want ain’t O’Banyon, she assaulted a citizen. We gotta take her in.”

“Why would you think she’s here?” Alexi asked.

“Folks along the river said you left in an awful hurry.”

“Is that a crime?”

“In my experience, a quick exit usually means something’s fishy.”

“I assure you we’ve done nothing wrong.” Alexi’s voice held just the right amount of sincerity and outrage. He was so damn good at this.

“Then you won’t mind if we look around.”

“Be my guest.” The statement was followed by clangs and thumps as they searched the wagons. They wouldn’t find any elixir; Mikhail always sold every last bottle before leaving, which made it easier to deny ever selling it at all.

A short while later, the tent flap parted and several big, rough, dusty men strode in. The leader was easily distinguishable by the big tin star on his burly chest, the man in the alley equally recognizable by both the huge knot on his forehead and the sway of his enormous belly.

Cat had been peering into the hand mirror so she could see them enter without staring at the doorway as if she were expecting them. When they crowded into the tent, she spun, gibbering Spanish, berating them for invading her domicile, demanding to know who they were, calling them every name and every curse word she remembered.

None of them paid any attention to her words, her face, or anything else but the slow slide of the brightly colored material as it cascaded downward, catching on the swell of one breast.

Cat stroked her collarbone, making everyone who watched wonder how her skin would feel right there, stretched taut over such a fragile bone. While they considered that, she used the other, unwatched hand, to tug
on the hem of the blouse so that the neckline dipped low enough to tantalize. Perhaps they might catch a hint of nipple if the garment would only slip just a little…bit…more.

Every man in the place, except Alexi, who’d already seen this show, held his breath and prayed.

Cat sauntered across the room, chattering in
español.
Speaking it brought back memories of the sudden spring snowstorm in South Dakota, the deserted cabin with more holes in the walls than boards. They’d huddled around a fire, and to pass the time Alexi had shared every word and phrase that he knew.

She was very good at learning languages, and she made up for her lack of vocabulary with a flair for invention, adding a few words that sounded like Spanish but weren’t anything at all.

Her skirt twirled, revealing more leg than was proper. Her feet were bare; she’d tied a piece of red string around one ankle. Several of the men couldn’t take their eyes off it.

Another thing Alexi had taught her—some men liked legs, some breasts, so it was best to give everyone a peek at everything. If they were to survive, people such as Alexi—and Cat—needed to use each gift they’d been given.

Though few could drag their eyes above her neck, she’d let her hair fall over her too-light-for-a-Mexican-peasant eyes, and she kept her distance from the fat man with the knot on his head. From what Cat had observed of the fellow so far, she should have hit him harder.

Cat glanced at Alexi, gibbered louder, waved her hands, which served the dual purpose of distracting attention from her face even more and making her breasts jiggle enticingly beneath the thin cotton blouse. One of the men choked; another muttered, “Holy hell.”

She thought Alexi managed, just barely, not to smile.

The lawman shook his head hard and dragged his gaze from Cat’s chest. “Why didn’t you come out when we called?”

Alexi pushed his way through the crowd until he stood at Cat’s side. “I’m afraid she doesn’t speak English.”

“None?” The leader of the posse sounded skeptical.

Alexi grabbed Cat by one wrist and yanked her close. “No need,” he murmured, running his palm across her bare shoulder.

Cat shivered. Good Lord, those hands.

Alexi brushed his thumb along the soft skin at the crook of her elbow, and Cat planted that elbow in his stomach. She proceeded to give him a piece of her furious Spanish mind. If they weren’t careful, she’d end up in jail or worse.

Alexi, who had turned his back to the others, rolled his eyes and smirked, but he let her rant on. They both understood that the more Spanish she spoke, the less Cat O’Banyon she appeared.

“What’s she sayin’?” whispered a heretofore silent man. Considering his high-pitched voice, Cat understood his reticence to speak.

“How should I know?” muttered the lawman. “This is Missouri, not Texas.”

Alexi winked at Cat, then turned. “I doubt very much you’d want to hear the translation.”

The leader’s gaze narrowed. “I say we do.”

Alexi shrugged. “She says you are the sons of swine to barge into a lady’s tent. She believes your mothers were…” Pausing, he tilted his head. “Well, I should not repeat that in the presence of a lady.”

“
She
said it,” one of the others pointed out.

“Nevertheless,” Alexi continued. “Something about how you will die. Blood, sweat, pain, your intestines in
a fire.” He waved one hand. “It all blends together after a while.”

The men shuffled and murmured. Cat was certain she heard one of them say, “Witch.” She tensed. Being accused of witchcraft didn’t happen often these days, but it happened. And it always ended badly.

For the witch.

“What good is she if she can’t speak English?” the lawman asked.

“Ah, but, gentlemen.” Alexi glided in behind her, then dipped one hand down the front of Cat’s blouse, boldly cupping a breast and thumbing the nipple until it peaked and drew every eye, every thought, in the room. “She is so very good at everything else.”

Cat gritted her teeth and waited for the men to leave. Unfortunately, Alexi was giving them a performance for free that they couldn’t find outside a raree-show for several dollars.

He kept his hand down her shirt, palm around her breast, thumb just brushing the nipple. She wanted both to elbow him again and to lean back against his shoulder and sigh. It had been so long.

However, it hadn’t been long enough that she could overlook an audience.

“
Vete
,” she muttered.

Alexi put his mouth to her ear, as if he were nuzzling her. “Patience,
chiquita
,” he murmured, then licked the lobe.

The moan that escaped her was low and full of promise. A couple of the men watching answered in kind.

Alexi lifted his head, but he kept his hand right where it was. “Pardon me. I had forgotten you were there.”

Cat couldn’t see his smile, but she heard it in his voice. Felt it in his—

He pulled her more firmly against him. Yes. He was definitely smiling with more than his mouth.

“You will understand if I ask my associate to show you out.”

Cat risked a quick glance through the curtain of her hair. Mikhail stood in the opening, and she hadn’t even heard him arrive.

“Hold on, now,” the lawman began, and turned. When he had to lift his head, then lift it some more, for his gaze to reach Mikhail’s, the remainder of what he’d been about to say faded to a gurgle.

Everyone else appeared frozen, staring as well. Obviously none of them had seen Alexi’s show or purchased his elixir. Which was probably for the best.

Mikhail cracked his knuckles—the sound like gunfire in the sudden silence—then swept aside the tent flap. The posse filed out, though each one could not resist throwing a final glance over his shoulder. Perhaps to make sure the big man was not going to break their necks as soon as they turned their backs. Or, more likely, to discover if Alexi would be unable to wait until they were gone to toss her onto the mattress, throw up her skirt, and—

He pulled his hand free of her shirt, and Cat had to stop herself from snatching it back. What was he doing?

She spun, clapping a palm to either side of Alexi’s head, narrowly missing the boxing of his ears—she was out of practice at the art of grabbing a man with anything other than violence—and yanked his mouth to hers.

One of Alexi’s first rules: If you give an audience what they want, they don’t look beneath the surface for the how or the why or the what. Therefore, Cat hoped if she gave the posse what they wanted now—a peek at what they thought would be happening later—they could quit dragging their feet and
vete!—

Go!

She also wanted them to leave with the picture of Alexi and his Mexican peasant woman foremost in their mind. They would imagine what occurred after the lowering of the curtain—or in this case the tent flap—and they would forget about Cat O’Banyon. If not forever, at least for the time it would take the three of them to disappear. However, as Alexi’s lips touched hers, Cat was the one who forgot things. Or perhaps she merely remembered.

The taste of his tongue—iced whiskey, maybe wine. Its texture worn satin—smooth, familiar—both comfortable and infinitely exotic. Her hands gentled, her fingers sliding into his hair, one lock curling about the base of her thumb, then fluttering against her wrist, causing gooseflesh to race up her arms, across her chest, down her back.

His tongue withdrew, and she nipped his lip in case he was thinking of following it. Instead, he trailed kisses to her neck, her shoulder, the warmth of that clever mouth burning every last shiver away. He’d always known exactly what she needed. Alexi knew what everyone needed before they even knew it themselves.

His lips brushed the tops of her breasts; his hands skated the backs of her legs, pausing when they encountered nothing but skin. “You were short on Mexican peasant woman drawers,” she murmured into his hair.

“Do Mexican peasant women wear drawers?” he whispered, breath casting across the damp trail left by his mouth.

“You would know.”

“Perhaps.”

She smiled at the words, lips curving against the top of his head like a caress. Typical Alexi, to agree but never to answer. She thought back on the times she’d asked
him questions about himself. Had he ever told her anything at all?

His tongue slipped beneath the bodice of the blouse, sliding over a nipple, and for just an instant her mind went blank.

She fought her way free. She could not afford to let her body cloud her thoughts. Better if Alexi’s body clouded his. Best to keep him off balance. It was the only way to remain in control.

“They’re gone,” she murmured and stepped back, crossing the tent as if she hadn’t just been clasped desperately in his arms and wishing she never had to leave them.

A
lexi nearly grabbed Cat’s hand and yanked her back. However, he’d learned the hard way that grabbing and yanking Cat led to bruises, cuts, and black eyes. The only time she permitted such behavior was when they were in the middle of a “show.”

The only time she permitted a lot of these things was when they were pretending.

He couldn’t believe he’d become so involved in the ruse that he’d forgotten the danger, their audience, himself. But when she’d pressed her lips to his hair as he’d tasted her, he’d actually started to think this was real. He, who should always know better.

Alexi counted to ten in Russian and willed his erection to wither. It didn’t take long. All he had to do was look at Cat and remember how she’d said,
They’re gone,
then walked away. As if she’d been covertly watching the posse the entire time and not paying attention to Alexi at all.