Gaffney, Patricia (13 page)

"What did he do?"

"Headed west. Worked odd jobs. He didn't really know what to
do with himself. He was kind of... aimless."

His quiet mood puzzled her. "Did you try to help him?"
She looked down. "Sorry. This isn't any of my business."

"I had my own life. And I was on the run from the law in
Kentucky by then because—well, I expect you read about that in the paper."

That reminded her. "Are they still after you?"

"No, no. It happened fifteen years ago, the statute's run
out. Anyway—Marion and I, we've run across each other a time or two since then.
Matter of fact, I saw him not that long ago." Again he smiled the
mysterious smile. "In Oakland."

"That's where you got shot," she remembered.

He took a sip of beer. "But this was before. My cousin was
working a job busting mustangs for some rich rancher in Sonoma."

"Well," she said uncertainly. "At least he's found
work with horses."

Jesse laughed without humor. "He hates it. Breaking horses,
he can't stand that. Plus working for somebody else..." He shook his head.
"It makes him crazy."

A pause.

"Enough," he said abruptly, shuffling the cards, coming
out of his mood. "You got a hell of a lot out of me for one piddling four
of clubs. Cut."

She lost.

His slow, devilish grin made her stomach flutter. "Miss
McGill."

"What."

"How'd you get that tattoo?"

She tried to stare him down. His eyes were twinkling; hers
probably were, too. "What tattoo?" What got into her? She wanted him
to drop his eyes, look at her
there.

He did.

"That one," he said softly.

She tore her gaze away to look down innocently. In this dress, she
knew it was invisible unless she leaned over. "How do you know I've got a
tattoo?"

He blew air through his nose. "I've seen it. You might say
I've studied on it. What is it, some kind of bird?"

"An eagle," she answered, taking a slow, deep breath.
For his benefit. Good grief, she hadn't flirted like this with a man since—she
couldn't remember when. Even with Jamie O'Doole, she'd never been this brazen.
"It's a symbol of freedom. I wear it in honor of someone... someone I used
to know."

"Who?"

"His name was James. James Doulé. He's dead now." She
dropped her gaze into the depths of her beer. Contemplated the foam sadly.

"Sorry to hear that."

She lifted her head, tossed it bravely. "He was a mercenary
soldier, an American. He fought with Garibaldi in the Red Shirt army. But
then... he was shot and killed in the struggle to liberate Naples. I wear
this"—she brushed her bodice with her fingertips—"in his memory."

She waited a few mournful moments before looking up. Jesse was
scowling into his own beer. He looked... he looked
annoyed.
She scoffed
at the thought that her story had made him jealous—ridiculous; a few days ago
he thought she was a prostitute, and that hadn't bothered him one bit. Still.
Jealous? Why, what an intriguing idea.

"It's late," she noticed.

"Yeah." He looked up, and when he smiled at her her
heart flipped over. "Only time for one more question." He turned the
deck over to the ace of spades on the bottom. "Well, will you look at
that."

"You did that. You put it there."

"Can't prove it."

She sat back with a show of resignation. "Okay, hit me."

"Tell me why you were so mad at me. You know. That day in
your room."

"I wasn't mad," she denied automatically.

"Yes, you were."

"No, I wasn't."

"Yes, you were."

"No, I wasn't."

"Okay." He rested his forearms on the table and leaned
in, hunching his shoulders. "I'm sorry for saying what I did, Cady.
Thinking what I thought."

"Really, it doesn't matter in the least."

"Matters to me. I got the wrong idea, and I want you to know
it wasn't because of anything you did. Or said, or—looked like. It was just me
being stupid."

She stared into his gray eyes and felt herself falling, falling.
Here they were in a saloon knocking back beers, she in a shameless hussy dress
she could barely sit down in because the hips were so tight— and he thought
mistaking her for a whore was all
his
fault. She'd've laughed if she
hadn't felt a little more like crying.

She didn't do either one, of course. "I told you, you don't
need to apologize. It's not the first time somebody's... made a mistake about
me. Probably won't be the last. But... thank you for saying that. It means a
lot."

The bar was empty; even Chico had gone home. Levi was blowing out
the lanterns.

"I'll walk you around to your back door," Jesse said.
"To say good night."

To kiss her good night—that's what he meant. She tried to think,
but her mind went blank. She allowed a little pause, so he would at least think
she was thinking. "Well... all right."

Levi just said good night to them, didn't stare or look knowing or
make a crack. That was just one of the things she loved about him—his
live-and-let-live attitude.

Outside, the half-moon floated behind cloud wisps, hazing the blue-black
sky. Somewhere far off an owl hooted; down at the end of Noble Fir, Stony
Dern's dog wouldn't stop barking. Cady and Jesse didn't make small talk as they
walked around the corner. Their steps sounded too loud on the board sidewalk;
She was glad when they came to the worn grass path through the blueblossom
bushes that led around to her back door.

Boo appeared out of nowhere. Ignoring Jesse, he arched his back
and rubbed against Cady's skirt. "Who's this?" asked Jesse.

She bent down to stroke Boo's head. "My worthless excuse for
a cat." She opened the door, and he scurried inside.

"You ought to keep this locked, Cady."

"I know, I've meant to. I forgot this time."

He poked his head in. The moonlight made it bright enough to see
that her small room was empty and undisturbed.

"Well," she said. "Night."

"Night." He smiled knowingly, and she couldn't help
smiling back. It was partly nerves, but it was also because being with him made
her feel good. Made her feel like laughing. She waited, barely breathing, for
the moment, the first movement toward her. She wasn't expecting it when he took
off his hat. He dropped it on top of the dahlia stake she'd stuck in the ground
yesterday, and she shivered to think it was because he wanted his hands free.

"Cold?"

"No." She was just rubbing her arms for the heck of it.

He covered her hands with his big ones, those handsome,
long-fingered hands she'd been looking at all night. She stopped her nervous
chafing. Very slowly, so she could pull away if she wanted to, he took her
hands and put them on his shoulders. Pressed them there, gave them a little
pat, then hooked his fingers at the back of her neck and drew her up close.

It was the first time she'd touched him. He had touched her—that
day in front of her mirror—but this was the first time she'd touched him. She
was acutely aware of that as she molded her palms over hard muscle and bone,
warming skin, soft linen. He slipped his fingers into her hair, cupping the
back of her head. Tipping her chin up, he surprised her by kissing it. She
smiled, and he kissed one side of her mouth and then the other. His mustache
tickled. He was just the right height, tall but not too tall; even this close,
she didn't have to crane her neck to see him. Kiss him.

She kissed him. Couldn't stand the wait any longer, nice as these
nibbling preliminaries were. She put her hands on either side of his face and
brought her mouth to his, brushing lips with him. Someone said,
"Mmmm," she wasn't sure if it was him or her, maybe both, and her
thoughts started to scatter.

He said, "Cady," a wisp of a word in his throaty
whisper, pressing her back. She liked it, the door frame behind her, Jesse's
long, hard body in front, leaning into her, pressing against her. She murmured,
"Jessss," and squeezed him tight, feeling so strong and competent,
and in the next second a delicious weakness washed over her, sapping all her
strength.

She sighed. She let her head fall back. She felt the toe of his
boot slide between her shoes—just that— pushing her feet, her legs, a little
bit farther apart, and the bottom dropped out of her stomach. She clung to him,
twisting her head from one side to the other, loving the feel of his hot mouth
on her throat. She hadn't been expecting this. A good-night kiss, she'd
thought, not this long, sweet ravishment. How could she stop?
"Jesse..."

He moved lower, touching her skin with his tongue. She put her
hands in his hair, breathing deeply, arching her back. She felt his teeth on
the swell of her bosom, a wide, soft horsebite that made her laugh, breathless,
and made sparks shoot down, straight down into her vitals. In one smooth move,
he slipped his hand inside her gown and held her naked breast, at the same time
he lifted his head and kissed her full on the mouth.

She moaned. He murmured something. She couldn't make it out;
something sweet, complimentary. Not for a second did she feel maneuvered or manipulated—because
she knew he was as aroused, as
surprised
by this as she was.

But she said, "Wait... Jesse, wait..." when his hand on
her waist stroked down to the front of her thigh, twisting in the fabric of her
skirt, making a gentle grab for her crotch. Too fast. Men were always too fast.

"Okay," he conceded, "okay," breathing hard
against the side of her neck. He took his hand away. And kissed her again,
sliding his tongue in her mouth.

Oh, God.
But she knew exactly what she was doing.
A few more seconds of this, that was all she'd let him have, because then it
really had to... it really had to...

"Stop."

She couldn't believe it when he did. Stopped. Right away—no
whining, no pretending he didn't hear or he was too carried away to obey. He
stepped back and let her catch her breath, not holding anything but her hand.

"Want to go for a ride with me tomorrow?"

"Umm." A ride? What was tomorrow?

"You ride, don't you? Horses," he specified when she
kept frowning at him. "Wake up," he whispered, leaning in to kiss the
tip of her nose.

That was how she felt, groggy, as if she'd been sleeping and
dreaming the loveliest dream. "I don't ride very well." Oh, and
"I don't have a horse."

"You could rent one from Nestor. I have a
great
horse."
She smiled—he looked so pleased with himself. "Where would we go, Cady?
You could show me the country. I haven't been anywhere but here since I got
here."

"Jesse." Now she was waking up. "I'm busy
tomorrow."

"All day?"

She nodded.

"What about Saturday?"

"No. Can't."

"How come?"

"Busy."

He kept his smile, but let go of her hand. "Sunday," he
said softly, not a question this time. She looked down.

"Any point in me going through the rest of the week? I'll do
it if it'll work."

"Jesse, listen." She was glad when he backed up another
step; it gave her room to think. "I just... I just don't see any point to
it. You and me going for a ride or anything."

"Why not?"

Because you're a hired gunfighter!
How many men have you
killed?
That's what she
should've
asked him, not where he was born
or if his childhood was happy.
How can you shoot a man down in the street
for money?

"Why not, Cady?"

She shook her head. Should she tell him? What if he got mad at
her? What in the world made her think she could trust this man? He was smiling
at her, a stiff, sad smile that might've melted her heart if it hadn't tripped
a memory. She'd read somewhere that Billy the Kid was always smiling. Billy the
Kid was a real friendly fellow. He smiled while he drew on men and shot them
dead.

"You know—it's late," she said abruptly. "I think
we'd better say good night. Levi will want to lock up." He made a movement
toward her. Instinctively, she shrank back, into her open doorway. She watched
his face go from surprise to understanding, then cynicism. Her heart sank.

His lips curled. "Oh, now I get it. It's okay to kiss me here
in the dark, but not go for a ride with me in broad daylight. Why didn't you
just say so?"

She twisted her hands, miserable.

"Fine. That's fine. Believe me, my heart's not broken."
He started backing away. "Besides, you've got that solid gold reputation
of yours to uphold. Don't forget that. No, sir. Wouldn't want anybody to find
out the lady blackjack dealer and saloon owner went out riding horses with
Jesse
Gault."

He spun on his heel, went four steps down the walk, spun back
around, and strode toward her. She thought he wanted his hat, which was still
dangling on the dahlia stake. "I take that back. Didn't mean that last
part. Forget I said it. Okay?" he demanded when she only stared at him.