Wyatt slammed the shot glass down on the counter. Jealousy thundered through his chest. Jealousy? Of course not! He wasn't jealous.
Yet as he poured his own whiskey, watching the sweet clear liquid splash into the chunky glass, unbidden thoughts flashed through his mind. Garnet with the long fall of raven-black hair cascading down her back, caressed lovingly by the wind. Garnet standing in the sunlight in that white dress sprinkled with small green leaves, so fresh . . . like a vision of the home he had always drawn in his mind. Garnet clinging to his arms, trembling with passion as he'd kissed her. He drained the shot glass and still he could remember holding her tight to his chest. She was all inviting curves and tempting woman.
And there was more. He could remember the taste of her mouth, velvet-warm and uncertain, soft as the morning. He could imagine what it might be like to kiss her more intimately, to unfasten those prim buttons marching down the front of her bodice and touch her lily-white skin.
Wyatt choked on the next image imprinted in his brain. He sputtered whiskey, coughed, but still the picture remained in his mind, all hot passion and fantasy. Garnet naked and reaching out her arms to welcome him.
Wyatt closed his eyes, leaned his elbow on the edge of the bar and buried his face in his hand. If he were more of a religious man, he'd ask the good Lord to help him, to save him from his own base desires. But Wyatt knew enough about himself, and about sex and desire, to know he wasn't lusting after Garnet.
He was in love with her.
* * *
Garnet was in a hurry, but she didn't wish to be rude. Sweet Katy, a kindly looking woman from one of the brothels, had stopped her on the street to inquire about laundry services. She couldn't turn away business, but then she realized Sweet Katy was inquiring about a job. Katy was thinking of finding something respectable, and Garnet could not turn her down. The woman was trying to improve her life, after all.
Sweet Katy mentioned that with the miners gussying themselves up and wearing clean clothes, she'd noticed some of the men were quite handsome. She'd always hoped to be a proper wife and mother one day, for she'd had little choice in her profession a few years ago. So Garnet promised Katy a job upon her return from Virginia City.
Outside the Stinking Creek Saloon, Garnet squared her shoulders. She had never been inside such an establishment before. But this was Montana Territory, not Willow Hollow, New York, and she was no longer the same woman she'd been when she first stepped foot off that stagecoach.
She recognized him at once among the din and the crush of men drinking booze. She would recognize Wyatt anywhere, even from behind. Those shoulders, strong enough to best any man in a fight. The powerful way he leaned forward on the bar stool, all steely confidence.
"Whiskey is
not
a necessary supply for our trip." She reached for the bottle.
Wyatt scooted it away.
"You broke the last one you touched," he explained with a grimace. "Besides, I'll need whiskey if you insist on making the coffee."
"Well, if you make the coffee I'll need to take Mr. Carson's chocolates."
"You will do no such thing." Stony anger distorted his face.
Was he jealous? No, he couldn't be. That didn't make sense. He was the one who suggested they should be friends. Then again, he was the one who had initiated all three of their kisses, especially the last, where he'd kissed her so deeply and boldly every inch of her body had craved more. And still craved it.
Intrigued, she sat down on the vacant stool beside him. The barkeep wandered over, a kindly, worn-out looking man carrying a fresh jug of whiskey, but she shook her head to decline his silent offer. She may be a new woman, but she wasn't about to sample spirits.
"Miss Garnet," a man's smooth-as-silk voice purred from behind.
She twisted to face him. She recognized his handsome face at once, polished in the way of money and social standing, but not attractive the way Wyatt was. "Hello, Mr. Carson. Thank you again for the gift of chocolates."
He removed his hat with a flourish. "I am deeply gratified to do anything I can for a fine woman like you."
Wyatt's hand closed over hers, commanding and possessive. "We'd better leave now. I see Tom outside with the horses. Let's go. Say good-bye, Carson."
Why, he truly was jealous! Garnet bit her lip so she wouldn't laugh. She bid Mr. Carson a hasty good-bye as Wyatt nearly pulled her out onto the street.
"Wyatt, not so fast."
"We need to hurry."
"Of course. Lance and Golda have several hours of a head start on us."
"I was thinking more of getting you away from Carson." He released his hold on her wrist. "Don't worry. I'll find your sister. Count on me."
"I will." Something in her heart let go, something she'd been holding on to for so long–her inability to trust. But she could trust Wyatt. She would wager she could trust him with her life.
"Do you know how to ride?" he asked, great doubt booming low in his voice.
"Probably better than you." She turned to study the three horses at the hitching post. Wyatt's black mare, a sturdy packhorse loaded with supplies and sparse baggage, and a docile sorrel gelding that looked at her with big moon eyes. "Where's the sidesaddle?"
"A sidesaddle?" Wyatt tipped back his head, laughing. "I doubt there is one in the whole of Montana Territory."
"Well, how do civilized women ride?"
"Like men. Astride."
"Why–" That didn't sound decent at all.
* * *
Garnet could smell Virginia City before she saw it. A mix of odors that ranged from garbage to wood smoke to the scents of baking breads and smokehouses.
The city was nothing more than a grim stretch of buildings crammed along the wrinkled hillside. Yet in the night, with the slightest crescent of a moon, the entire town shone with an eerie candor. She had stayed a few days in Virginia City before catching the stage to Stinking Creek. She hadn't liked it.
Now, she had to find her sister. At the worst, Golda and Lance were only an hour or so ahead of them. Surely they could catch them in time. There was hope.
"Perhaps it's too late at night to find a minister to marry them." She leaned back in the saddle, attempting to post but failing as the horse trotted down the side of the hill. Her pantalooned bottom slapped against the hard saddle with every jarring step, and it hurt. Very much.
Beside her, seated on his proud horse, Wyatt shrugged. She could see the silhouette of his form, of man and horse, elegant and strong and bracing. He cleared his throat. "Don't count on it. You can buy anything anytime in this town, even a minister. You only need the money."
"Lance is pretty poor. Maybe they will have to wait until morning."
"He hasn't been very lucky on his claim."
"How do you know?"
"Oh, I have my ways." He tipped back his hat to stare at the town. "I used to spend my evenings in the saloon until a certain woman stumbled into my life. I pay attention, and it doesn't take long to figure out who has a good claim and who doesn't."
"Because they have the gold to gamble?"
"Exactly." His face compressed with thought, showing an intelligence she knew was there all along.
"Let me guess. You are not one of the men who spends his gold freely."
"Not until today. I had to buy those two horses and our supplies." He held out his hand. "Look. The rain is turning to snow."
"I see." The snow was significant because it meant she might be trapped in Stinking Creek for the winter. With Wyatt. With her growing desire for him, a desire she feared she could not resist.
Best to concentrate on the task ahead and not on the man riding at her side. "Do you know where we should start searching? I don't see any churches."
"I know Virginia City like the back of my hand." Mischief sparkled in his eyes. "Trust me. It won't be too hard to find all the ministers in this town."
How wonderful to have his help, Garnet marveled. She could get used to having such a strong shoulder to lean on. "You don't think they're married yet, do you?"
"Could be." He sounded noncommittal.
"She better not be." She didn't want Golda–or herself–to make a life-altering mistake.
Wyatt took the lead on the narrowing path, the mud making a sucking sound as the horses trotted. A crisp breeze blew down from the mountains and fat flakes whispered to the ground. Snow collected on the brim of her bonnet and she shook it off.
"Are you cold?" Wyatt twisted around in his saddle.
"I'm perfectly fine," she lied. Her bottom felt so sore from contact with the unyielding leather saddle it hardly mattered if she was soaked through to the skin.
"Does your behind hurt?"
"Something fierce."
"You don't have much further to ride. We're almost there."
"Those were the longest ten miles of my life."
His chuckle warmed her clear through, chasing away the chill in her bones and all her discomfort. "After you've found your sister, we'll get you in a hot bath and you can soak those saddle pains away."
"Oh, don't tease me. I want one right now!"
The sky chose that moment to send down great sheets of enormous snowflakes that plummeted like feathered bullets to the earth. A cold wind stirred up those bullets, driving them at a mean angle. In moments, Garnet was sheer ice from head to shoe. She had never felt so cold.
"This is mighty disagreeable country," she shouted over the gusty wind.
"You haven't seen nothing yet. Wait until you see a full-fledged Montana blizzard."
With any luck,
she thought, secretly happy.
Now, when exactly did she start
hoping
she'd be stuck here all winter?
* * *
Gunslingers. Outlaws. Scar-faced men wearing guns. Virginia City's noisy, filthy, muddy main street wove like a snake through the hilly town. Despite the late hour, Garnet was not surprised to see the flock of men milling from one saloon to another.
The streets were jammed with life. Merchants on corners, men in the streets, soiled doves hanging out of second-story windows. And it was noisy. Men yelled above the clack and rattle of wagons, horses whinnied their opinion of the muddy streets, and the calls of the soiled doves rang like bells above the din.
Garnet felt out of place, a lone woman on the dangerous street of this frightening mining town. She might have been terrified, but walking beside Wyatt with his capable look, his steely strength, and his lethal black eyes scared off any trouble.
Shivering and miserable, Garnet never thought she would feel so relieved to touch the ground again. She dismounted in the livery, with Wyatt's hand on her elbow to steady her. She was exhausted from the long ride, and her legs ached. Her fanny hurt even worse! If only she could just lie down in one of the fresh clean stalls and close her eyes for a moment.
But she could not afford to rest. She had a sister to find, so she stood huddled, dripping wet, while Wyatt gave explicit and very long-winded instructions to the stable boy on how to care for his muddy, thoroughly soaked mare. Apparently the horse was expensive, and he seemed to be very attached to it.
After ascertaining that a young couple matching Lance and Golda's descriptions had stabled a donkey in that particular livery, Garnet led Wyatt back out into the night. The stable boy didn't know where the man and woman had headed, but they were talking of marriage. Small groups of men wandered by, looking for excitement. The snowfall had little effect on the town's nightlife.
Garnet couldn't stop shivering. Or panicking. She knew she should find clean clothes and dry off, maybe eat a warm meal. She knew this cold night could put a chill in one's lungs, but she had no time to spare. Golda was about to make the worst mistake of her life.
"Let's try Madame Dumont's," Wyatt spoke in her ear, his breath hot. "One of the ministers often hangs out there in the doorway, preaching against all the drinking and gambling. If he's there, we can ask him where to start. And if not, Madame Dumont will know."
"I'll not set foot inside a gaming house!" Garnet bristled, folding her arms and planting her feet. "Well, maybe to find Golda."
Wyatt laughed. He reached out his hand, big and gentle. She stared at it, considered all he was offering.
Help. Friendship. Support. Tentatively, she placed her hand in his. His skin felt cold from the temperature, but Wyatt's touch was enough to warm her. Light from two neighboring saloons spilled onto the street, catching the angle of his jaw and the line of his nose.
So handsome. Garnet couldn't stop admiring him.
"Don't worry." Wyatt tucked her hand against his side, drawing her closer. "If Eleanore Dumont doesn't know where the ministers are, no one does."
"You sure seem to know this town. Have you spent that much time prospecting in this country?"
"No. I was a deputy here."
"You?" Why, that couldn't have been long ago. Anyone could see the town had grown up out of the wilderness overnight. "Why did you leave a steady-paying job to hunt gold? It doesn't make any sense to me."
"Let's just say it was an opportunity I couldn't let pass me by." His mouth twisted into a frown, not a smile, and his eyes were troubled.
Had something happened? She wondered. Some event that had hurt him? Then she remembered his wife, the one who left him, no, divorced him. Why would anyone leave this fine man? Garnet could not stop the growing dislike for Wyatt's former wife. Why, she must have been an addlepated toad not to want him. Anyone could see how much he still hurt. And how good a man he was, deep down, beneath all his tough exterior.
