Lisa Plumley (7 page)

“I can’t rightly say.”

“You
won’t
say, you mean.”

Cade shrugged. Determinedly, Violet straightened her spine. Her maneuver put her chest right up against his. It turned out that her shape wasn’t quite as washboard flat as he’d imagined it was. Violet Benson was not curvaceous, but she was...affecting.

As though sensing her unexpected advantage, Violet tipped her face to his. She offered a kittenish smile. The mingled fragrances of castile soap, laundry starch and warm, feminine skin reached him next, making Cade go stock-still with longing.

Men at a gambling table didn’t smell like that. Neither did roving train cars or impersonal hotel rooms or bathhouses. Cade couldn’t remember when he’d enjoyed inhaling quite so much.

“I’d be very happy,” Violet said, touching his arm with an utter lack of guile, “if you’d come back to see me tomorrow.”

Yes.
Yes
. On the brink of agreeing instantly just to see her smile again, Cade flashed his dimples at her instead. “Mmm. And
I’d
be happy if you’d rub up against me some more, sugar.” Deliberately, he gestured at her position. “But this time, move a little slower, please. I want a little more time to enjoy it.”

Just as he’d expected, Violet widened her eyes. She blinked, seeming to awaken to their compromising position. Then she smiled up at him. “You’re the one who backed us up here. Anyone watching would think
you
wanted to be this close to
me
.”

Damnation. She had him there. Cade put down his arms.

“You do, don’t you?” Defying his expectations this time, Violet stayed put, arms crossed. “You can’t scare me, Cade. As I said, I’ve done a lot of charity work. I’m not meek or naive.”

“But you are inexperienced. And I’m plenty skilled.”

She appeared to ponder that. Her expression turned subdued.

“Well,” she said. “If you don’t turn tail after this one evening together, I guess we’ll find out about that, won’t we?”

Her expression now appeared downright challenging.

Cade gaped. “I can’t believe you’re baiting me.
Me
.”

“Then we’re even. Because I can’t believe you’re trying to seduce me into
not
helping one small, innocent boy who’s all alone in the world! Even though
you
helped him first. You must have brought Tobe here for a reason.” Tilting her head, Violet examined Cade with uncomfortable perceptiveness. “I think I know what it was, too. Cade...how many orphanages did you stay in?”

Shocked, Cade stiffened. Memories rushed at him, black and lonesome and bitter to recall. He’d thought he’d buried them.

It took him a minute to recover. Dimly aware of Violet watching him, Cade sucked in a deep breath. Somehow he made himself toss off a smile. It was not his most dazzling effort.

“I’ve just decided,” he told Violet, “that I won’t be back tomorrow. It turns out, if
this
is good luck...I don’t much like how it feels.”

Then he tipped his hat to her and took himself away.

Violet Benson might have succeeded in “saving” one male of her acquaintance tonight, Cade told himself darkly as he stepped into the chilly evening air outside on the front porch, but she wasn’t getting her angelic hands on both of them. Not if he could help it.

And he damn well could.

Chapter Five

T
he nice thing about Sunday services, Violet thought as she sat, hands clasped atop her hymnal, clad as usual in her best jade-colored, worsted-wool bustled gown, in her customary place in the front pew of her father’s church, was that they afforded folks a much-needed chance to socialize after a busy week.

Of course, church services
also
helped save people’s immortal souls. That was of utmost importance, too. But from a secular, practical perspective, everyone liked to mingle. It was as simple as that. Church provided the best possible place to deepen old friendships and forge new ones, which was precisely what Violet had been doing ever since the gambler Cade Foster had left her standing in her own hallway, all flushed and breathless and feeling as hot as a Thursday afternoon in July.

I’d be happy if you’d rub up against me some more, sugar
, she remembered him saying in that low, rumbly, undeniably shiver-inducing voice of his.
But this time, move a little slower, please. I want a little more time to enjoy it
.

Heavens! Just thinking about their encounter now—in Sunday service, of all places, while her father droned on with his sermon!—made Violet feel all...
tingly
inside. She hadn’t realized exactly how close she’d gotten to Cade in that hallway. She’d been too busy wondering about him, trying to understand him, searching for a reason that explained his odd resistance to her plans to help Tobe. Who was doing just fine now, by the way.

After a hasty glance at the boy—who for today was being watched over by sweet Miss Mellie Reardon, one of her friends, and seemed to be enjoying all the attention—Violet reclasped her hands, then thought about Cade some more. She believed she was right about his having spent time in an orphanage. He’d been too distrustful of foundling homes to dismiss the idea outright.

But why? Why would Cade be so cynical about a place that only existed to help forlorn and abandoned children? She couldn’t think of a single reason. For a man who’d lectured Violet about the need for hopefulness, she decided, Cade seemed in miserably short supply of it himself. In the end, he hadn’t even been able to believe in his own gambler’s superstition.

If this is good luck...I don’t much like how it feels
.

Well, that was doubtless because Cade hadn’t experienced its full effect yet! He certainly hadn’t given
her
a fair chance as a lucky charm, Violet thought in her own defense. At the rate things were going, he might never do so. She hadn’t so much as clapped eyes on Cade since he’d left her house the other night.

She knew he was still in town. Morrow Creek’s tireless gossipy grapevine—and all her friends, besides—had kept her informed of that much. But Cade hadn’t returned to ask for Reverend Benson’s blessing of their supposed “courtship” and attendant lucky-charm scheme, and Violet hadn’t sought out Cade herself, either.

Why should she? she asked herself as she shifted in her seat. Word had gotten out about the dinner she and Cade had shared. The knowledge that the mysterious new sporting man in town had paid a deliberate social call on plain, unremarkable Violet Benson had already perked up her prospects considerably.

Exactly as their dance at the Grand Fair had done, their convivial dinner had provoked new curiosity about Violet among the menfolk in town. They’d paid her more attention of late than ever before. She was trying not to become
too
foolishly accustomed to their interest. But it was thrilling, all the same.

Not as thrilling as Cade was, she’d admit. But still...

Unable to properly describe
why
Cade’s attention was so much more stimulating than the attention of other men, Violet was saved from continuing the effort by the one thing that never failed her: good works. It was time to pass the collection basket, and Violet was responsible for doing so.

Turning her thoughts to that duty, Violet made her way to the back of the church. Her fellow congregants smiled at her; her father’s familiar voice comforted her. She wasn’t
sure
that his gambling winnings had wound up in the church’s charitable offerings, as she’d insisted to Cade, but she felt hopeful they had.

She stood at the backmost pew, then offered the collection basket to the first congregant. He put in his contribution. The basket passed from hand to hand. Absently, Violet watched it.

A fat wad of rolled-up currency landed in the basket.

Startled, Violet stared at it. That was a great deal of money! Even if all the bills beneath the top one were the lowest possible denomination, there had to be...a
lot
of cash there.

Aching to know who was so generous, Violet nonetheless kept her gaze lowered. She strived to remain neutral to the offerings her friends and neighbors made to the church. Everyone gave what they could; sometimes people took help when they needed to.

But
this
was beyond unusual. Only a lucky gold miner, a railroad magnate or maybe a touring European could afford to give so much to a Sunday collection plate. It was unprecedented.

Interestedly, Violet let her gaze roam down the pew. Near the far edge where the basket was, she glimpsed quality shoes, a pair of strong legs clad in gray trousers, two masculine hands—

The people on either side of the mysterious donor gasped. Loudly. As one, the whole congregation turned to see what the fuss was about. Caught staring, Violet felt herself flush.

The basket moved on. Throughout the small church, the congregants’ rumblings rose a little higher. More people spied the wad of cash in the basket. Each row of worshippers swiveled their heads in turn, trying to glimpse the charitable benefactor in their midst. Her father cleared his throat, then preached on.

Steadfastly, Violet collected the basket at the end of its rounds. The unknown donor’s contribution appeared to have kicked up some sense of competitive giving among the congregants. There were more coins and bills than ever before—and one small but valuable gold-dust packet, as well. It smelled like whiskey.

Happy for it all the same, Violet carried the collection to her father’s modest office. Located in a small room behind the chancel, it contained a rolltop desk for Papa’s books, papers and the church register, a well-worn chair, a window, a seldom-used door that led to the churchyard and a reliable safe. In the West, even a man of God couldn’t be too careful with money.

Crouching before the safe, Violet made fast work of depositing the collection funds. Ordinarily she would have sorted them. Today she felt much too curious about the identity of the mysterious donor to be too persnickety about organizing the money. Instead, she shoved the whole lot inside, then clanged shut the safe’s door. She gave the dial a hasty spin.

“You missed your calling. You should have been a gambler.”

At the sound of that familiar voice, Violet started. She rose, her green worsted skirts swirling around her ankles, to see Cade Foster standing there in her father’s office. He looked exactly as handsome—and as darkly enigmatic—as she remembered.

“When I dropped my latest bundle of winnings in your basket, everyone around me gasped,” Cade said. “But you didn’t even bat an eyelash. I’m impressed—you have quite a poker face.”

“That’s not what you said the other day,” she disagreed. “You said my emotions are unusually evident on my face.”

“That’s true.” He came a little closer. “I did say that.”

At his nearness, her heartbeat surged. Breathlessly, Violet stood her ground, feeling suddenly impatient and exhilarated and anxious, all at once. She’d thought she might never see Cade again, she realized. She’d thought her turn as belle of the ball might end as quickly as it had begun. Evidently, she’d been wrong. She’d never felt
so
happy to be wrong about something.

She ought to be more cautious this time, though. It had shaken her when Cade had skedaddled from her house so abruptly.

To that end, Violet lifted her chin, striving to sound as though she bantered on a regular basis with worldly, roguish gamblers like him. “You also said that was a compliment.”

“It was.” Cade peered at her more carefully. His expression looked unreadable. “But I reserve the right to change my mind.”

She couldn’t help feeling stung. “About the compliment?”

“About your ability to bluff. Maybe your poker face only applies to other people, not me. Maybe with me, you can’t help showing how you feel.” Cade nodded. “You’re doing it right now.”

She was? “No, I’m not.”

“You are.” Another careful, interested look. “You look as though you feel...excited. Do you, Violet? Do you feel excited?”

More than she ever had
. She could scarcely keep her knees from wobbling, she felt so unendurably curious about why he was there. Had Cade only come to assuage his guilty gambler’s conscience by dropping off a contribution to the church? Or was there another reason the gambler had come there? To see her?

“I guess it’s probably not smart to tip your hand to a renowned gambler.” Rallying, Violet smiled. “I’ll make more of an effort to be cryptic and unreadable.” She did. “See?”

“Nice try.” Cade appeared improbably amused by her efforts—and possibly a bit charmed, too...even though that made no sense. “But even when you’re trying, you’re still you, Violet.”

“Meaning what, exactly? Why are you here, anyway?”

“Meaning,” Cade clarified as he came a bit nearer, all the way into a patch of October-morning sunlight, “that you’re about as mysterious as an open book on a sunny day. At least to me.”

She couldn’t help feeling vaguely disappointed. Everyone knew that gentlemen liked pretty ladies who kept them guessing.

“And I’m here,” Cade added as Violet pondered the devilish impracticality of that, “because I missed looking at your face.”

She glanced up. “Oh.” That
might
be a good thing. It might be as good as the way he looked just then, with his dark wavy hair all burnished by sunshine and his eyes bluer than blue.

“
You
can’t stop being open to me, it seems.” Now Cade was close enough to touch her. So he did. He took hold of her elbow, then drew her nearer. “And despite my efforts to stay away—”

“So you
were
avoiding me on purpose!”

“—
I
can’t stop wanting to be near you.”

Heaven help her, he looked as though he meant it. His gaze roamed over her features, full of enjoyment and remembrance and...surrender? Violet didn’t know what to make of that.

“I won that money for your collection plate shortly after we had dinner together,” Cade told her. “I even got invited to the next level of play in the qualifying rounds for the private faro tournament. I glimpsed Whittier, too.” He dropped his gaze to her bodice. Most likely, he could see her heaving in eager, restive breaths. “But I haven’t won a damn thing since then.”

“Oh. I’m very sorry to hear that.”

“No, you’re not.” Cade’s eyes sparkled at her, full of mischief and something darker...something needful. “Neither am I. Because it’s brought me back here to you.” He lifted his hand to her cheek. Rousingly, he stroked her. Tellingly, his voice lowered. Huskily, he said, “You see...I need more good luck.”

He was going to kiss her
. Violet could tell. She’d not been courted much, that was true; but she recognized something primal in Cade’s eyes. Possibly because she felt a bit passionate just then herself. Her knees quaked. Her hands trembled. She
needed
to be kissed, it occurred to her. How else to truly know Cade?

How else to know if she could trust him? Rely on him?

“I need more good luck,” Cade repeated, “and it seems I can only get that from touching you. Maybe...from kissing you.”

From the rest of the church, the sounds of her father’s sermon echoed from the pulpit. Its usual emotive vibrancy was muted by the walls that stood, quite properly, between Reverend Benson and Violet. The effect was surreal—and inhibiting, too.

“You can’t...get your good luck here.
Now
,” she breathed, thoroughly scandalized by his suggestion. “We’re in church! Everyone I know is in there, a few feet away!”

Rakishly, Cade quirked his eyebrow. “So?”

“So...” Vigorously, Violet gestured. “They’ll know what we’re doing in here! I’ll be ruined.” She gave him a quelling look. “You might be leaving Morrow Creek soon, but I’m not.”

He laughed, then squeezed her hand as though to reassure her. “I left quite prominently after making my contribution to the church coffers. As far as anyone knows, you’re alone here.”

Well...that might be true. Cade
had
used the exterior office door very effectively to enter without her noticing. More important...
he was still going to kiss her.
No matter who was nearby to know it or to happen upon them or even to disapprove.

Agog at the realization, Violet backed up. Her bustle bumped into her father’s desk, stopping her retreat abruptly.

She guessed this was what she got for toying with a notorious gambler—for pretending to be more sophisticated than she really was. In a last-ditch effort to retain her virtue, Violet tried some distracting chitchat. She pointed to Cade’s fine leather brogues. “I thought I recognized those shoes.”

Another smile. “Don’t be afraid, Violet. I’ll be gentle.”

“You’ll be...” Envisioning the possibilities inherent in that soft promise, Violet sighed. Tellingly. Swallowing hard, she nodded. “You’ll be very,
very
gentle? And quick?” She cast a hasty glance at the doorway. “Very, very,
very
quick?”

“You’re new at scandalous behavior. I can tell.”

“Try not to seem so amused by that. It’s rude.”

“I’m sorry. I do admire your enthusiasm for the task at hand though. Not every sinner wants to conduct their sins quite so...efficiently as you.” Contritely and somehow wickedly, Cade took her other hand. “I never mean to be unkind to you, Violet. Please allow me to make up for my rudeness...with pleasure.”