Grayson Brothers Series Boxed Set (4 books in 1) (67 page)

She pulled the trigger, the successive blasts shattering her fantasy and clearing her mind as she emptied the revolver.

“Good job.” He gave her a light hug and let her lower her arms. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

“Aside from getting my ear bitten, my fingers frozen, and my shoulder dislocated, it was a grand adventure.”

He leaned around her shoulder and gave her a playful, lusty kiss on the cheek that connected with a loud smack. “Feel better?”

“You’ve obviously forgotten that I’m holding a weapon.”

“The gun is empty, darling.”

“Yes, but it’s heavy enough to knock out a bull.”

He laughed and guided her back to the carriage. “Honestly, you have no sense of adventure.” He was teasing her, but she sensed the truth behind his words. Her childhood had been filled with adventure, but she hadn’t embraced her sense of daring since eloping with Jack. Maybe that’s why she faced each day as something to get through, instead of seeing it as the opportunity she’d once believed it to be.

She climbed into the carriage and felt a deep sadness well up in her as he drove them back toward town.

“It worries me when you’re so quiet.”

“I’m just cold,” she said, but a sense of loss pervaded her body. What had happened to the half-wild, willful girl, who’d tested her parents’ patience on a daily basis? Her antics had made them laugh and chastise her by turns, but their house had been full of horseplay and laughter.

Boyd pulled the carriage to a stop in front of her house, and anxiety filled her. She didn’t want to be alone. She didn’t want to hear the gasps and whispers of other people making love.

“Would you like some hot cocoa or tea?” she asked, craving his company

He climbed out of the carriage then helped her out. “I’ve got to return the carriage to Radford and Evelyn’s livery then take care of a few things at the saloon.”

“Don’t tell me you’re opening tonight. I won that poker game, Boyd. You promised to close.”

“I intend to. But I need to feed Sailor and clean the bar.” He handed the revolver back to her. “I’ll stop by later to check on you and Anna.”

She clenched her mittens around the heavy gun, resisting the urge to beg him to come inside.

“Thank you for the lesson.”

“Thank you for not shooting my foot off.” She smiled, realizing how much Boyd brightened her days, how he never ceased to bring a smile to her face.

“I’ll see you later,” he said then jogged back to the carriage.

As he drove off down Main Street, she stood on the porch wondering when she’d begun to consider having an affair with him.

“Sailor! Leave that alone.” Boyd pushed the dog away from the spilled glass of whiskey then reached for a rag.

The dog circled back for another lick.

“Don’t whine to me if you end up sick.”

Sailor sniffed the floorboards then flopped down by the door, staring at Boyd with accusing eyes.

“Life is like that, pal.” Boyd washed his hands at the sink then poured himself another whiskey.

He leaned against the bar and studied the smooth curves and graceful valleys his father had carved in the ornate shelving unit. It was a master’s work. The mark of a great man’s passion.

Boyd knew each ridge and gully, each scroll and crest that transformed the natural pieces of mahogany, birch, and holly into a one of a kind masterpiece. He knew each section that his own knife had carved, where his father had guided his hand, where he’d boldly displayed his own talent.

They carved, sanded, and varnished the piece together.

Boyd spent each minute at his father’s side, watching, learning, testing, proving himself. Some nights they worked shoulder-to-shoulder in focused silence. Other nights Boyd and his father exchanged light banter or clowned and laughed, while challenging each other to a higher level of expertise.

Boyd expected to spend his life like that, sharing his days with his brothers at their sawmill and his evenings working beside his father in their wood shop.

But his father had grown too crippled to work.

Then he’d broken his hip.

A year later, he was dead.

Boyd traced his fingers over the furrowed wood. How many hours had he spent examining the mirrored shelf, the last project he and his father had worked on together? How many times had his chest cramped with grief? With regret?

How many times had he avoided his image in this mirror?

A shadow shifted across the glass, and Claire’s reflection looked back at him, but he didn’t turn around. She wouldn’t be there. Her image was a frequent visitor in his mind. To see her face, or her fleeting smile, was nothing new.

“Can you see your future in that mirror?” she asked.

Sailor leapt to his feet with a happy bark, and Boyd spun to face her.

She scratched Sailor’s head, but looked at Boyd. “You said I had no sense of adventure. Maybe you’re right. I want to understand. About you. About this.” Her gesture encompassed the saloon. “Show me what this is all about.”

He was far from drunk, and yet her request baffled him.

To his surprise, she moved forward and picked up the bottle of whiskey. “Show me what the attraction is to drinking alcohol, and to spending time in a saloon.” She held the bottle out to him. “I assume you drink this from a glass?”

He took the whiskey from her, mildly horrified at the thought of a woman like Claire enjoying hard liquor. “Why the sudden interest?”

“Maybe I haven’t considered both sides of this issue fairly.” Sincerity filled her voice. “I want to understand who you are. I want to understand why you and other men choose this life.”

How could he explain when he didn’t know the answer himself?

He put the whiskey bottle back on the shelf then shooed Sailor away from the bar. The dog flopped down on his bed beneath the billiard table.

“You shouldn’t have left the house alone. I’ll take you home.”

“Anna knows I’m here.” She pressed her hands to his chest to stop him from stepping around her. “I’m not leaving until I experience a night in a saloon.”

He laughed. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

Her chin shot up and she glared at him. “Don’t insult me. I’ve made my position on intemperance specific and clear, but you’ve never shown me one reason to support your view. Show me now.” She retrieved the whiskey bottle and held it out to him. “Convince me to stop marching for temperance. “

Her eyes sparkled with challenge. He’d rather kiss her than drink whiskey, but she was so sincere in her quest that he couldn’t turn her away.

He exchanged the whiskey for a jug of wine. “What do you want to know?” he asked, filling two glasses.

“What do you do here? What do you talk about? What attracts men to alcohol? Why do you like being here?”

He handed her a glass. “This could take a while.”

“I’ve got all night.” To his shock, she lifted her glass and drained it. Her face pruned, her eyes squinted, and her body quivered in reaction.

He burst into laughter. “You were supposed to sip that.”

She clutched her stomach and leaned against the bar. “I wish I would have.”

He laughed again and gestured for her to follow him. “Come on.” He took the bottle of wine, rounded the bar, and nodded for her to sit beside him. “Relax. That’s what most men come here to do.”

She took off her coat and laid it over the bar then perched her perfectly rounded bottom on the edge of a barstool.

“They can relax in their parlors with their families,” she said.

He filled their glasses then braced his elbow on the bar.

“When a man sits in his parlor, he thinks of all the unfinished chores he should be doing, or the attention he should be giving his wife and children, or the neighbor he should be helping. When he sits in a saloon, he doesn’t have his family or his fields to remind him of his duties and obligations.”

“That’s exactly why I’m fighting to close these places,” She lowered her half empty glass to the bar. “His family needs him at home, or in the fields, or anyplace that supports them. Your saloon merely tempts him away from his commitments.”

“That’s not true.”

“It is.” She finished her drink then reached for the wine bottle.

He grabbed the neck and stopped her. “If you don’t want to be sick, I would suggest you pass.”

“I’m perfectly capable of drinking wine with you.”

“I agree, but not at my pace, and definitely not double my pace.”

“I didn’t come here for a lecture. I’m here to learn about this life. I intend to experience all the sin and vice your saloon has to offer.”

“Darling, you couldn’t sustain the shock.”

Something dark flickered in her eyes. “You have no idea what I can endure.”

It dawned on him that he wasn’t talking to a virgin, but rather an experienced widow, who understood the layers of their conversation. She was daring him to treat her as his equal, to test her intelligence and grit.

“Are you certain you can handle the education, Claire?”

“Quite.” She tugged on the bottle. “Go ahead and indulge all your bad habits. You can pretend I’m a man for the evening.”

The wine had gone straight to her head. It must have. Even during his worst drunk he couldn’t mistake her for a man.

But she was interesting with her guard down and her dander up. The scruples and secrets she used as a shield had been washed away by her first glass of wine. It would be interesting to see what another few ounces would wash away.

He took the bottle from her then filled her glass. “Sip that one,” he instructed then placed the bottle out of her reach. She teetered on her chair, and he frowned. “Sit back and put your feet on that rail.” He pointed to a brass rail attached to the bar, eight inches off the floor.

She slid back on the stool and propped her feet on the rail. “That’s a definite improvement. Now, if the rail were heated, I could be quite content to sit here and warm my feet for a spell.

“Only a woman would think of something like that.” He patted his thigh. “Lean back and put your feet up here.”

She glanced at him. “Now you’re being ridiculous.”

“I’m just offering to warm your feet. There’s no one here to tell you it’s improper. Now put them up here—unless you’ve changed your mind about sin and vice and want me to take you home.”

She hesitated then lifted her chin and swung her knees toward him. “I’m staying.”

He slid his chair back to allow her to stretch out her legs. She put her feet in his lap but eyed him warily while he unlaced her boots and pulled them off. He dropped her boots on the floor then slipped his palms over her cold feet.

“Mmmm... that’s good.” Her eyes widened. “I mean, the wine is good.”

He grinned. “Of course.”

“I was trying to make a point.” Her brow furrowed as if she were searching for the thread of their conversation.

He nearly laughed, but bit his lip. “We were talking about why the men come to my saloon.”

“Right.” She sloshed the burgundy wine in her glass. “So why do they?”

“For camaraderie.”

“Oh...”

Her shivery moan sent blood singing through his veins. He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to start nibbling at her slender ankles and kiss all the way up her sleek, long legs until he reached the apex of her thighs. And then...

“Those men can find companionship at home with their wives,” she said, her chin lifted in challenge.

“What?”

“Those men should give their wives more credit.”

“Oh. Right.” Now he was fighting to keep his mind on subject. “My saloon isn’t meant to draw men away from their families or responsibilities, Claire. They also come here to seek information to help with their crops and businesses.”

She frowned. “Do you expect me to believe that?”

“It’s true. Some men want to play a game or two of billiards after sweating in a factory all day.” He shrugged. “They come to saloons for all sorts of reasons.”

“Why do they come to your saloon?” She glanced around the room then looked at him. “The bar is beautiful, but I can’t believe they come for the decor. What draws them here?” His gut reaction was to swing the conversation to another topic like making love, but he could sense her sincerity, her honest desire to understand what this place meant to him and his patrons. And she was starting to relax. The tension had drained from her shoulders, and the frown lines between her eyebrows had dissolved. She probably didn’t even realize she was flexing her feet beneath his fingers or emitting small sighs that were boiling his blood.

“It’s a refuge to most of us.” He watched her intently to see if she would scoff.

“From what?” she asked, her expression openly curious.

“Responsibility, I guess.” He struggled silently for a way to explain. “Men carry a financial burden on their backs all day. In hard times, it’s heavy. Sometimes a man just needs a place where he can blow off steam before it builds into something ugly.”

“We have a place. Or... we will soon. We’ve been raising money for a public parlor where men can go instead of... here.”

How ridiculous. What man would want to frequent a place like that? Boyd wouldn’t. Perhaps the men who’d signed the temperance pledge would use the room. But why? For what?

She lowered her lashes as if she knew the idea was ridiculous and that it would never replace the saloons. “We’re thinking of providing food and a place to read or play games.” She peeked from beneath her golden lashes. “The men could meet women there, too.”

Women? Any sane, unmarried man would jump at the opportunity to meet women in a social setting like that. If the women got behind this, their public parlor just might work. But not for long. Once the boys met the available girls, and married, they would head right back to his saloon.

He smiled because she seemed so hopeful, and he didn’t have the heart to tell her it wouldn’t work. “I’m sure the men will appreciate having an option.”

“It’s not meant to be an option.”

“I see. Well, I guess I’ll have to work harder to convince you to stop trying to close my saloon.” He gave her toes a light squeeze. He had to get his hands off her before he slid them up her legs and gave her all the sin and vice she could handle. “Let’s see if you have the daring to learn how to play billiards.”

She toasted him with her glass then took a healthy swallow. “This is really quite lovely.” She slid off the barstool in a rather loose-jointed manner then swung her glass toward the billiard table. “Lead on.”

“Would you like some help with your boots?”

She pressed her palm to the front of her dress. Her toes peeped out from beneath the heavy blueberry-colored velvet. “I think I’ll leave them off. This seems like the perfect opportunity to let my hair down.”

He grinned. “Claire, darling, I’m really beginning to like you.”

She returned his smile, warm and open. “Our friendship is rather... unexpected, isn’t it?”

They were more than friends, but it was enough for the time being.

Sailor scrambled from beneath the table and butted his nose against her legs. She knelt and hugged his spotted head to her cheek. “The Ormands have found a house and will be leaving in the morning, so you can come visit me again.”

“That will improve his life—and mine—considerably,” Boyd said. “Sailor’s been irritating me all day.”

“Good for you, Sailor.” She giggled and kissed the dog’s head. “I need all the help I can get.” The dog stretched and gave a huge tongue-curling yawn that made her laugh.

Boyd watched her play with his dog, enjoying her new, uninhibited side. Sailor wheezed and pushed against her, making her wobble. Boyd caught her elbow and pulled her to her feet.

“You’ve ruined my dog,” he said.

“I’m just teaching him how to treat a lady.”

“That was supposed to be my job.”

“Sailor’s better for my intervention.” Claire finished her wine then licked her lips and grinned up at him. “After that first swallow it goes down easy. Should I get the bottle?”

“Absolutely not.” He handed her a billiard stick. “You won’t be able to play if you drink too much.”

“I feel fine. In fact, better than ever.” She spread her arms and winced. “Well, almost fine.”

He nodded toward her shoulder. “Is it causing you much pain?”

“Surprisingly, no. It is sore, and ugly, but the doctor says it should heal quickly.” She set her glass on the edge of the table and pointed her stick at a corner pocket. “Do we just whack the balls into those holes?”

“Sort of.” He moved her glass to the shelf that ran the length of the west wall. “You hit this cue ball into one of those balls to direct it into a pocket. Like this,” he said, leaning over the table.

Years of playing made the move fluid, but he tried to slow it down for Claire’s sake. The cue ball sent the nine ball in a forty-five degree angle where it dropped into the pocket with a thunk.