Rachel Donnelly (10 page)

Nat nodded absently in the direction of the smiles and raised hands on his way out. He breathed a grateful sigh when his face hit the cool night air.

But his relief didn’t last long.

No sooner had he placed his hat on his head, did he hear a female voice raised in distress.

“Get up, Leigh, please! We have to go home.” Christie Wallace leaned over her cousin, collapsed beside the watering trough. “How did you get so drunk? There wasn’t any alcohol in that punch.”

Leigh gave a loud belch.

“I expect it was the jug they were passing around,” Nat said, not bothering to keep the irony from his voice.

Christie swung around with a startled look. Then her brow puckered as though she was remembering back over the events of the evening. “I didn’t see any jug.”

“You weren’t supposed to.” Nat strode forward to get a better look.

Leigh lay crumpled next to the trough as still as a corpse, a trail of spittle making its way down his chin from the edge of his opened mouth.

Nat tipped his hat back with one knuckle. “He’s had a skin full, that’s certain.”

“There’s no question of that.” Christie flashed him a look of disgust. “The question is how am I going to get him home?”

Nat folded his arms across his chest. “He looks comfortable enough to me.”

“I can’t leave him here all night!” She fairly wailed. “Something might happen to him.”

“He wouldn’t feel it if it did.”

She made a loud huff, apparently too tightly wound to see the humor in the situation. Or maybe it was just him she didn’t like.

“Where’s Flossie?” Nat gazed around, but saw no sign of her. “She’s had plenty of practice coaxing drunks.”

“They had a tiff.” Christie sounded annoyed. “She’s gone home.”

“Is that a fact?” He couldn’t help but chuckle. “Well, girls like Flossie tend to be a little high strung.”

Christie slashed him a frosty glare before saying scathingly, “I’m not interested in your exploits with the local whores. Perhaps you could share your expertise with my cousin when he recovers.”

He chuckled louder this time. What a little hypocrite she was. She kissed with the passion of a whore, yet criticized someone like Flossie who hadn’t the luxury of saving her virginity for the security of marriage. “You seemed more than interested when I cured your hiccups.”

She opened her mouth as though she might say something, then looked away. Her cheeks went pink, making her eyes turn as warm as brandy. He remembered her tasting just as intoxicating. He felt the urge to draw her into his arms and sample that heady brew again. But something told him she wouldn’t allow herself to be caught off guard so easily this time.

“Come on, partner.” Nat jerked Leigh up by the lapels. Then he plunged his head into the watering trough.

Leigh came up sputtering and gasping for air.

“Was that necessary?” Christie stared at him open mouthed, though she looked like she wanted to smile.

“Can’t get him home unless he’s half-awake.”

“I didn’t ask you to get him home.” She glared at him. “I’ll take him home.”

Nat ignored her stiff rebuff, hauling Leigh to his feet. He positioned himself under Leigh’s arm, then steered him across the street.

Christie followed, every so often slapping her cousin on the back, while he continued to choke and cough up water.

Between them, they managed to hoist Leigh up the mercantile steps and inside.

“Put him on the cot in the storage room.” She hurried past Nat to open the door.

Nat would have cheerfully dropped Leigh in a barrel to be relieved of his dead weight. Not to mention the rank odor of corn whiskey, leaking out everywhere.

“Thank you,” Christie whispered as she drew a wool blanket up to Leigh’s chin. She might have been tucking in a small child instead a grown man passed out dead cold drunk.

Nat nodded shortly, then strode from the room. Such fussing rankled and perplexed him. Leigh didn’t deserve her tender concern. Hell! He didn’t even know he was getting it. What he needed was a swift kick in the ass.

Christie caught up with him just as he reached the door. “The sheriff tells me you’re leaving tomorrow.”

“That’s right.”

“I was wondering … I mean … I wanted to know … ” She slid her tongue along her top lip, then gushed, “If you catch Hank’s brothers, will you be bringing them here?”

“I expect so.”

“Oh,” she said on a trembling note.

He had the sudden urge to take her in his arms and quell her fears. But that wasn’t a good idea. “You needn’t worry, you won’t have to testify.” He touched the edge of his hat, then strode out the door.

She followed him out onto the wooden walkway. “But I want to testify!”

He turned around to face her, pinning her with his gaze. “Liar.” He walked slowly toward her, forcing her to retreat until her back was pressed up against one of the posts on the veranda. “You were shaking in your boots when you came to see Hank.”

She lifted her chin, meeting his gaze directly. “Of course I was afraid. Who wouldn’t be? But fear shouldn’t stop anyone from doing what’s right.”

He gave a humorless chuckle. When he braced his hand on the post above her head, he could see the pulse in her neck — feel her breath against his cheek. “Ah yes, the right thing … The trouble is there’s nobody there to thank you when you’re dead.” He’d thought to intimidate her — put some healthy fear in her. Instead, he felt his own composure slip. She smelled fresh and clean and flowery, like a sheet dried over a rosebush. All he could see was her sweetly curved lips, so pink … so smooth … so close.

The next thing he knew, he was kissing her — the last thing he’d wanted to do. Or was it the first? From the moment he’d seen her standing beside the buffet table at the barn dance that was all he’d thought about. And he wasn’t disappointed. She tasted better than the last time. With her breasts crushed up against him and one of her soft curls tickling his cheek, he was lost. In that moment, there was only her.

Everything vanished.

The sound of laughter in the distance finally brought him to his senses.

He pulled away, shocked by the raw hunger she’d unleashed — the yearning he’d felt.

Damn!

What the hell was wrong with him? Someone could have walked up and put a gun to his head. He would have been completely defenseless.

He wanted to take her by the shoulders and shake her for making him feel so vulnerable. But the sight of her wide liquid gold eyes brought him to his senses. It wasn’t her fault. It was his. He should have kept his distance.

“Mr. Randall!” She took a stumbling step back. “Are you trying to frighten me?”

He smiled, in spite of his anger with himself. Had she actually mistaken his passion for a calculated assault? It may have started out like that, but it sure as hell didn’t end up that way. He couldn’t have faked such desire if his life depended on it.

But what did it matter?

He’d achieved what he’d set out to do.

“No, ma’am,” he drawled, deciding to push home his advantage. “If I’d have wanted to do that, I’d have carried you to the stable and finished the job.”

“Ohhh!” She gasped, raising her hand.

He grabbed her by the wrist before she could do any damage. “Now why is it that every time I kiss you, you want to go and do that?”

“Why do you keep kissing me?”

“You and I both know the answer to that.” He captured her other wrist as she made another swing. “Face it, you’re in way over your head.”

Her bosom rose and fell as she tried to catch her breath. Little green flecks flashed like sparks in her brandy eyes. “Let go of me now or I’ll scream.”

He grinned. “That would be hard on your reputation.”

His threat must have sunk in because she settled down and stopped struggling after that. But her voice remained stiff with indignation. “Very well, please let me go.”

He released her abruptly. She took two steps backward then thrust her chin up and stalked for the mercantile door. Nat couldn’t help but smile. She was so soft and pink on the outside, but inside laid a smoldering fire. He wished he could be the one to fan it to life.

But he had no time for innocent virgins, especially headstrong willful ones who didn’t listen to reason.

Christie brushed a vinegar soaked hand past her forehead, then stepped back on the wooden sidewalk to admire her efforts. The mercantile window sparkled. Not bad for the first glass she’d ever cleaned. Her hands were black from the newspaper she’d dried it with, but it was worth it. She could see out into the street and know who was coming before the bell clanged. More importantly, she’d know when the stage arrived with precious letters from home.

She wasn’t the only one with her face pressed to the glass these days.

A week had passed and Nat Randall had yet to return. The residents of Murdock were getting anxious — mostly about their money. Every customer who entered the mercantile expounded on the subject. The longer Hank Everett languished in their jail at the town’s expense, the faster their chances dwindled of recovering their savings.

Christie’s gaze strayed down the street to the jail as it had a hundred times that week. She didn’t want to think about Nat. But she did. No matter how many times she told herself she never wanted to set eyes on him again, he kept creeping back into her mind like a thief, making her question her judgment — robbing her of sleep.

Why, she couldn’t say. He wasn’t a gentleman — quite the opposite. He was a roughneck. It was foolish to waste time caring what he thought. He was a scoundrel of the first degree. His searing kiss the night of the barn dance had proved that.

And to make matters worse, her traitorous body had responded. She’d behaved like a wanton. But it was too late to take it back. All she could do now was to let her humiliation serve as a reminder to prevent it from ever happening again.

She slid her gaze away from the jail. A flash of pink down the alley by the saloon caught her eye. She squinted against the white light of the sun. A man appeared to be accosting a woman — in broad daylight.

Good Lord!

What next!

Was she to be met with depravity at every turn in this town?

Her gaze scanned the length of the dusty street, but other than a stray dog trotting down the alley behind the hotel, there was no sign of life to be found. The heat of the noon sun kept everyone indoors, to conserve their strength for the night of debauchery at the saloon to come.

Christie let out a huff of exasperation, then snatched up her skirts to march across the manure-strewn street.

By the time she’d reached the mouth of the alley, the man had turned tail and run. As Christie neared his victim, her good sense returned and she realized the danger she might have put herself in. Little prickles dashed over her skin. She slowed her step, glancing over her shoulder for any sign of his return.

But the sight of Flossie crumpled against the clapboards soon pushed all fears aside. Flossie’s dark curls drooped about her head in disarray. One cheek shone scarlet, apparently from a blow she’d suffered. A drop of blood oozed from her top lip.

“Flossie!” Christie stared down at her in shock. “Are you alright?”

“It ain’t nothing.” Flossie managed a faint smile, then winced from the effort. “I’m fine.”

“Nothing!” Christie reached out a hand to help her to her feet. “He might have done you serious harm. He might have killed you. You need to go to the sheriff and report this at once.”

“No!” Flossie held up a hand as she took a stumbling step back. “He didn’t mean it. He has a powerful temper, that’s all.”

“He’s an acquaintance of yours?” A customer no doubt, but it would be inappropriate to mention that.

“You could call it that.” Flossie gave a sidelong glance down the alley, then concentrated on dusting off her behind. “I knew him in Carson City. You might say he was a regular.”

“And he followed you here?”

She took a long shuddering breath. “We had feelings for each other once. He even promised to marry me when he’d saved up enough money.” Her tone turned bitter. “But whenever he got money, he drank and gambled it all away. I got tired of waiting, that’s all.”

“I’m sorry.” It was difficult to fathom how Flossie could care for a man who treated her so cruelly. Of course, it was difficult to fathom her lifestyle at all. But desire was a powerful thing — it could pick you up and spin you around like a leaf in the wind. Christie understood that. She’d felt it herself in Nat Randall’s arms.

“I’ve got Leigh now. He takes real good care of me. But, I’m much obliged for your help.” Flossie turned to go, saying, “I best get back, or Delia will have my hide.” Christie’s heart clutched at the hopelessness in her voice. “Wait! Isn’t there something else you could do? I mean, I’m sorry, I don’t wish to pry, but if you’re so unhappy, why don’t you find some other kind of employment. Surely there are other ways you could make a living.”

Flossie flicked her a shy smile. “I had dreams of opening my own dress shop once. I’m pretty good with a needle. But that was a long time ago, and besides, you got to have money to do that.”

Christie nibbled on the bottom of her lip. “Yes, I suppose you do.”

“You’re a kind lady.” Flossie reached out to squeeze her hand. “I’m much obliged for your help just now. But don’t waste your time losing sleep over me. I’ll get by. I always do. Besides, it ain’t as bad as it was in Carson. The customers ain’t as rough. At least here, I got Leigh to watch out for me.”

Christie smiled ruefully as she watched Flossie stagger away. If Flossie was pinning her hopes on Leigh, she was due for a rude awakening. He was too busy rescuing himself most of the time to help anyone else. And judging from the fearful glances Flossie sent over her shoulder as she hurried toward the saloon, she needed a more competent protector than Leigh.

• • •

Christie prayed in church for Flossie’s soul, asking the good Lord to help her mend her ways. That night an epiphany struck her. If she could find Flossie a respectable job, she wouldn’t be at the mercy of opportunists. She’d be independent — free.