Eden's Sin (7 page)

“
Go or I'll shoot you myself.” Sinclair patted the shotgun. Anger radiated from him. He stood feet apart, the shotgun still aimed in Len’s general direction. “Go work on the Joy line, but don’t come back to Ladore.”

Len frowned but scuttled across the room like a dog with its tail between his legs.
“To hell with you. You’ll be sorry.” He slammed out the door.

Taking all the air in the room with him.

Dear God, she'd almost shot a man.

Her
knees wobbled and she gripped the bar for strength.

“
Are you all right?” Sinclair cupped her elbow. His chest pressed against her back, keeping her upright.

“
Yes. Thank you. You can go now.” She was going to fall apart and never recover. He couldn't see that, couldn't be here when that happened. No one could see.

“
No.” He placed her gun on top of the bar. “We're going to talk first.”

Dread bottomed out in her stomach. Why couldn't he just leave
before she collapsed into a squalling mess?

He took two steps toward the kitchen, shaking his head, then turned, red flushing his face.
“That was the stupidest thing I've seen in a long time. You could have been hurt. Or killed. Most certainly raped. What if I hadn't been here?”

Tears burned her eyes
. “I had another barrel to empty on him. And they would have helped.” She nodded above, showing him the five weapons now resting on the banister—three derringers, one ax, one butcher knife.

Sinclair huffed a long breath and ran his fingers through his hair.
“Do you realize if you killed him, no jury would let you go free?”

A welcome flash of anger spiked her words.
“He intended to rape me! I had every right.”

“
This is a brothel. You'd be convicted of murder, plain and simple. Hanged, like a horse thief. And I couldn’t stop them!” With each declaration his voice got louder, his frown deeper, his jaw harder.

“
Why are you yelling again?”

“
I—” His eyes widened. “Hell, I don’t know. I didn't mean to.”

A snicker
floated downstairs, along with the swish of skirts and the click of doors closing as the women went back to their rooms. Of course they would think she had the situation under control. Had
the major
under control. None of them knew she teetered on the breaking point more days than not. No one knew. No one ever knew.

“
I'm sorry.” He shook his head. “I had no right. I should go now. Make sure you lock up as I leave.” His hand drifted to cup her cheek, his palm rough and warm. And tender. “So you’re safe.” He gave that crooked smile, then turned and walked to the door.

His last quiet words blew through her like a storm,
shaking her body, her mind, her soul. The whisper sounded as if…as if he cared. But that was ridiculous. They'd known each other less than a day. And no man could care about her. Not truly care.

“
Good night, Eden.”

Shards of panic pierced her gut. Was it because he was leaving?
Because beneath her hard words she wanted him to stay?

“
Wait. Have a drink with me.”

He stopped and sighed.
“Why?”

“
I don't want to be alone.” The words were out before she could stop them. A truth she hadn't admitted to anyone in years. So why,
why
did she just admit it to this man? She didn't know him at all, and yet, something deep inside told her he could be her friend. Could be much more if she let him. “Just stay with me awhile. Please.”

He studied her for a moment, then nodded.
“I'll get two glasses.”

Chapter
Four

Sinclair locked the front saloon door and doused the lanterns. Grabbing the whiskey and glasses, he strode into the kitchen. Eden sat at the worktable staring at nothing, lost in thought, sadness etched on her beautiful face.

He studied her
, torn between wanting to wrap her into his arms and hold her for about a week, or making a fast retreat to the door. Eden looked about to break, and what the hell did he know about comforting a woman? Not a damned thing. And yet the thought of leaving her didn't sit right. And that scared him most. Because what he
did
know was that Eden made him feel something more than lust. Despite having slopped plates all evening in her kitchen, he enjoyed himself. When was the last time that had happened?

“
I put out the lamps and locked up.”

“
Thank you.” Her vacant whisper tied him in knots.

He sucked in a long breath.
He’d be a damned fool to let himself care about a woman who whored for a living, who had twisted the truth the first time they met, and yet, he
did
understand why she hadn’t admitted to prostituting. Most lawmen of any kind, be it civil or army, had only one use for sportin’ gals. Hell,
that
was his way of thinking too. Until Eden.

He uncorked the bottle and set it
in the center of the table. “Are you sure you want this?”

“
Yes. And your company. If you can stay?” Her gaze held his. “I’m sorry. I didn't even ask if you had other duties to attend.”

There
was his way out. He could use this excuse and leave now. That's all he had to do. One small lie. It was a good plan. “I can stay as long as you need me.”

Well, it
could
have been a good plan. But he couldn’t leave her alone, not when he recognized the kind of suffering she was going through. A person could only hold in so much pain before… they had to reach out to someone.

Was that how this woman broke through every barrier he had so carefully arranged? A soul as lonely and hurt as his own, reaching out?

T
he lone lantern danced shadows across her lush body, tempting him. But if it was only her beauty, he could control that, cure that. He’d bed her a time or two and be done. But he feared it was more, deeper, something that pulled him toward her. Something he wasn’t doing a very damn good job of controlling.

“
Are you going to serve that whiskey or not?”

“
Huh? Oh, yes. My apologies.” He poured two shots of liquid courage and handed Eden hers.

She swallowed it in one gulp.

He watched her pale throat move, her slight grimace as the rot-gut went down. She appeared so delicate, yet moments ago she'd blown a hole through a wall. From the moment she'd walked into his tent this morning, life had been disconcerting. His normal world was structured. People behaved the way they were expected. Not Eden. She kept him guessing and confused.

So why wasn't he marc
hing away from this woman like his ass was afire?

Because he wanted to play this out.
Yes, he wanted to bed her –
God, he longed to bed her
– but he also wanted to spend more time with her, learn more about her.

Protect her.

Christ, he’d damn near died when he’d heard the shotgun blast. All he could think of was Eden being hurt. Then there she’d stood, holding that smoking gun like a seasoned soldier.

But the knowledge that
if she’d killed Len and cried rape, knowing what a judge would do to her…

He swallowed his drink.
Damn. He could feel his hair turning gray.

“
Would you have done it?” He couldn't stop himself from asking. Was she capable of protecting herself, shooting a man?

“
Done what?”

“
Shot Len.”

She lifted one pal
e shoulder, the movement nudging her breasts to the top of the corset. God, she was killing him. He should have insisted she get a shawl.

“Yes. No. Maybe. Men shouldn't hurt women.” She gulped another shot. Tears shone in her eyes, but he didn't for a minute think it was from the whiskey. Here was a woman, who for all her bravado, bore a hurt so deep the pain was encompassing. He knew that pain.

He covered her hand
with his. “If you need help making Mary Rose's arrangements, all you need do is ask.”

She nodded
slowly, as if lost in thought, her green gaze luminous in the soft light. “The reverend won’t hold services for a whore. Me and the girls will just have the undertaker get Mary a small plot on the hill.” Her lips trembled, but she pressed them together and sucked in a deep breath. “Wh-y? Why would she do that to herself?” She gulped down her drink then shuddered.

He
stared into his glass, seeing Coreena instead of whiskey. “To end the pain I guess. Some people aren't strong enough to accept what happens.”
Hell.
Memories swarmed him. Things he'd fought years to forget.
This
is why he should have gone back to camp.

He downed his drink.

“But I promised her I'd fix things.” Eden poured and swallowed another glassful. “That she could go to school – forget it ever happened.”

“
I guess she didn't see how that would help.” Sinclair poured himself another. “Besides, forgetting is never as easy as people make it sound.” He was living proof of that.

She
squeezed her eyes closed. “I know. Some things never go away. Not ever.” She drained her glass again. “Pour me another and tell me what you're trying to forget, Major.”

Sinclair gritted his jaw
. Damn but he didn't like her perceptiveness. “What makes you think I’m trying to forget anything?”

Her gaze studied him, and he had to force himself not to look away.
She gave a sad smile. “Sometimes there's a hollow pain in your eyes – though you try to hide it.”

H
e gave what he hoped was a careless shrug. “I guess I've seen too much dying.”

“
You mean the war.” Her words were nothing but a whisper.

The fear in h
is gut loosened. That was a safe enough assumption on her part.

“
Yes.” The war and Theodore. And Coreena. Too much death. He drained his glass, trying to dilute the bitterness souring his stomach.

“
I lived in St. Louis during the fighting.” Her statement yanked him from his thoughts. “I had a home, money, gowns…Everything a
whore
could want.”

The self-
deprecation in her tone spoke to his own self-hatred. He glanced at her. The lantern threw soft light on her features. Wide, sad eyes. Pain pinching her brow into a frown. And yet, a grim determination hardened her delicate jaw.

“
Then how did you end up here?”

Eden took the
bottle, clenching it in a white-knuckled grip. “I trusted a man who betrayed me in the worst possible way.” Her voice caught, raw, hoarse with pain and unshed tears.

“
I'm sorry.” God, he knew about betrayal. Better than anyone.

He watched as she poured
them each a shot. They were very much alike. Maybe too much. Both guarded, hardened. Alone.

“
Doesn't matter now.” She downed her whiskey. “What brought you West?”

Oh, no. His life was not being discussed.
“What makes you think I wasn't born and raised in Kansas?”

She smiled, a little lopsided,
as if the whiskey was taking effect. “Your speech is too refined. And you have more manners than any Kansas farmer I've ever met. You’re Eastern for sure…New York or maybe Boston.”

She was too damned smart.
A quick change of tactics should distract her. “Well, I daresay the name Gabrielli isn't native to St. Louis.”

“
No.” She shook her head. “My mother was born in Italy.” Eden poured another shot for each of them, swallowing hers in one swig. “She came to America—an Opera singer, the star of the Venetian Company. She preformed for a President, Heads of State, rich, rich men. She was
so
beautiful.” She picked up the bottle again, but after staring at the amber liquid inside, didn't pour another glass. Instead she tipped the rim to her lips and drank deeply, her pale throat convulsing with each swallow.

“
Eden, stop.” He reached for the bottle. “You'll make yourself sick.”

“
No. No, I won't. It will stop the pain for a little while. Jus' a little while, that's all I need.”

Sinclair nodded.
“All right.” Who was he to take away her comfort? Hell, he'd tried to find peace in the bottom of a bottle every night for months after Coreena killed herself. “So tell me more about your mother's singing.”

“
It ended much too soon.” Eden tipped back the bottle again. “See, I
inherited
my poor judgment of men. Mama left the opera stage for a rich man who threw her out into the streets when he found out she carried me.” Silent tears rolled down her cheeks.

“
Eden…” Damn. He hadn't meant to make her feel worse. “I'm sorry.” What kind of life
had
she lived? The agony in her voice twisted his heart. Her eyes glittered with unshed tears, her sadness pulling at him. He could comfort her, but damn, he wanted to do more, so much more.

Selfish. She doesn’t want that.
No, she needed understanding from someone who knew the kind of hurt she felt inside.

He slid his hand across the table an
d covered hers, rubbing her velvet wrist, stroking her delicate pulse. Her breath caught in the soft quiet of the dim room, her heartbeat throbbing beneath his fingers.

“
Sinclair…”

The longing in her voice was all it took.

Without thought he strode around the table and pulled her up into his arms. Hell, he shouldn’t be so weak, but the heady scent of warm, willing woman filled his senses. She felt good, right.
So right.
Her breasts flattened against his chest, bare arms caught between their bodies. Her lips parted, her breath caught, and he lowered his head, ready to taste what he'd wanted for hours.

His mo
uth brushed hers, once, twice …
Christ, she tasted sweet.
Like cinnamon and apples, like honey. Like nothing he’d ever tasted before.

“
Oh, yes.” Her soft sigh was enough to make his heart kick. Heat flooded his veins, and a pounding started in his ears, as if he was coming alive for the first time in years.

No
. This didn’t mean anything. This was her profession. This was just sex.

He pulled her closer, sliding one hand
into her thick, silky hair, the other cupping her jaw, encouraging her to kiss him. Hell, he should stop. This was a bad idea, but surrender would be so easy, so enjoyable. They could enjoy a few nights until he had to return to Fort Hayes.

He deepened the kiss, su
cking her tongue into his mouth, biting her lip, pulling her body tight against his, letting her feel his erection against her belly. He slid one hand down her back, pressing her against him, her ass firm in his palm. Hell, yes. So much to enjoy.

She moaned
, the low, throaty sound hardening his cock even more. She swiped his tongue with hers, hot, quick flicks, and flattened her palm against his chest, caressing, stroking. Moaning.

Pushing.

She backed out of his arms. “You—you should go.” Her breath came in soft pants, her eyes wide. She turned and gathered their empty glasses with shaky hands. “I appreciate the fact you’re willing to help find Mary Rose's attacker. So…thank you.”

She
turned her back and stood stiff at the sink.

Oh, no.
Hell, no
. He knew when he was being dismissed. But he also knew what this was about.

“
I don’t expect sex for free in return for hunting Mary’s rapist. I’m willing to pay your going rate.” Hell, he’d pay double to have her.

Sh
e whirled around, eyes wide and filled with hurt. “What?” The words were nothing more than a strangled whisper.

“
I’ll pay you for your time.” He held out his hand. “Name your price.”

She backed away, slowly shaking her head.
“Get out.”

“
But—”

“
Just leave.” A tear leaked from the corner of her eye.

He reached for her
again. Why was she upset? What the hell had he done?
Nothing.
He’d been more than fair with his offer—and he knew she was attracted to him. He’d been with enough whores to know when they pretended and when they didn’t.