SEDUCTIVE SUPERNATURALS: 12 Tales of Shapeshifters, Vampires & Sexy Spirits (25 page)

I spent much of the time mentally replaying the kiss he’d given me, blushing at my own detailed memory. Inside, I was knotted up by recollections of the way his touch had moved me, had made me respond to feelings I didn’t even fully understand. It was as if I had two minds, one that kept me on this path and moving forward, another that wanted only to return to his arms and be held and kissed and awakened to the wonders of flesh.

My face grew hot again. I tried not to think of the way our passion had ended or the sting of his cold words.
I don’t need a whore.
Well, I wasn’t one, but I’d offered myself as if I were, hadn’t I? I thought about this and wondered if perhaps I’d confused him as much as he’d confused me. I thought he’d pushed me away because I was acting like a whore, but as I examined each nuance of those moments together, I began to see another possibility. When he’d pulled back and looked at me, I know I saw the same startled ardor in his eyes that must surely have been in my own. But what had he been thinking? I’d just told him I would join the girls in their profession. Had he imagined that I was playacting while I was in his arms? Pretending to be carried away by the tide of needs that pulled us together? Performing to prove my point?

It would explain his anger and his cruelty. He had no way to know that the desires he’d fanned inside me had managed to completely disable my brain. There hadn’t been a thought in my head beyond what I would feel next. Even as I considered all of this, I acknowledged the ridiculousness of it. So what if we had both felt the same consuming passion? Nothing could come of it. Sawyer was not the kind of man a banker’s daughter settled down with.

After we rested the horses and ate, Sawyer slowed our pace. I hoped that meant he felt we were safe from whoever might be following, but I knew that was a child’s way of thinking and I no longer had the liberty of comforting myself with falsehoods. My world revolved around harder, colder realities now. I had killed a man, and though I felt fear when I thought of it, I did not feel shame. Lonnie Smith deserved my bullet, and should I be found by a posse, I wouldn’t deny it. If it was not for Jake Smith, who I was certain was hunting me now, I would turn myself in and face the consequences rather than live life on the run. But I wouldn’t bring peril or the unwanted eyes of the law into this makeshift family of mine. I had put Sawyer McCready in danger twice now—once when I tried to kill him myself and then again when I’d shot Lonnie Smith.

A strange bubble of laughter rose in me. It would be a justified irony if Sawyer were as afraid of my violent nature as I was of his shady past.

I looked for him ahead and found him riding not far away. He was watching me from beneath the shadows of his hat, and my face grew hot imagining he could read my mind. He looked away and so did I, but many times after, I found his gaze on me. Many times I found mine on him, too.

We didn’t speak until midafternoon, when he dismounted and fell into step beside me. Startled, I looked around and realized I’d been moving fast and I was a good distance ahead of the others. I hadn’t been aware of it.

“How’s your shoulder feel?” he asked.

“Sore, but not unbearable.”

“Athena did a good job patching you up.”

“Athena did?” I asked. My voice betrayed my surprise.

He raised his brows in question. “Athena’s a good woman.”

“I know. I just didn’t think she liked me much.”

He grinned. “I don’t think she’s so wild about me, either.”

“Oh, but she is,” I argued. “I’ve never seen her so warm and friendly around any of the rest of us.”

I think he was pleased, but he didn’t say as much. I liked him better for his words about Athena. It’s easy to care about people like Honey and Chick and even Meaira. But it took character to find the good in someone who looked at the world through her anger.

We walked in silence for a few moments. Our feet made a soft thump against the hard ground. In the distance I saw a coyote race across the rugged terrain. Sawyer saw it, too, and quietly tracked its path until it disappeared. I saw in his eyes a kinship with the predator, in the simple act of hunting to survive.

I cleared my throat and looked away. I needed to break the silence. I asked, “This town where your saloon is, this Diablo Springs . . . Have you been there before?”

“Nope.”

“Did you know
diablo
means
devil
? Why is it called Devil Springs?”

Sawyer shrugged. “The man who sold it to me—”

“Lost it to you in cards.”

“That’s right,” he said, looking at me out of the corner of his eye. “Lost it fair and square. He said that some people think the town is cursed.”

“Why?”

“Used to be Apache land, but they got run off.”

“And they cursed it?”

“That’s what they say. Others say it was named because of the hot spring. Hot-hell-devil. That’s how they named it.”

“A natural hot spring? I’ve heard of them.”

“He said the town wasn’t much yet, but it’s growing like a weed. The more he drank, the more he talked. He had big plans. Not sure what we’ll find when we get there, though.”

I hoped for the best and he must’ve seen it on my face because he grinned.

His mouth caught my attention and brought a rush of memory. I could still feel how my heart seemed to stop somewhere between beats as he stepped closer. How my breathing ceased as he trapped me in his gaze and held me tight. His voice had been low, low enough to brush against my senses like suede against my skin. The greens and browns of his eyes had darkened, like water with a deep undertow.

“You feeling sick?” he asked.

“No. Why?”

“Your face got red all of a sudden. You feel all right?”

“I . . . Yes, yes, I’m just warm.”

“You can ride,” he offered, hooking a thumb at his horse.

“You’d give me your horse?” I said.

He frowned. “Not to keep.”

His seriousness made me laugh. “I didn’t mean to keep. I just . . . We haven’t actually been friendly.”

His gaze made an imperceptible shift to my mouth, and I read his mind this time. For a moment, we’d been more than friendly.

What if he took me up on my offer? What if there was no “what if” in that question? He’d made it clear the women were all a burden. He didn’t want us and he damned sure wasn’t doing us any favors. We’d be expected to work for our keep. That included me. And if he came to me, what would I do? I’d committed us all to this path.

I squared my shoulders. I had not been raised to sell myself to a man, but I had not been raised to let another shoulder my burdens, either. I peeked up at Sawyer through my lashes. Although if I was honest, was the burden as heavy as I thought?

I realized he’d stopped walking and was looking from me to his horse.

“No, thank you,” I said, more forcibly than I’d intended. “I will walk.”

Sawyer frowned at my sudden rigidness, and I saw our friendly camaraderie vanish. I was both happy and sad to see it. I would be smart to keep my distance from Sawyer McCready.

* * *

The first thing I noticed about Diablo Springs was the filth.

I’d become adjusted to the thick layers of dust, sand, and grit many days ago when the trees and grasslands had become a faded memory, replaced by low scrub, spiky yucca, and short barrel cacti that wore rings of bright-yellow fruit on their tops. There were also towering green man-shaped cacti with hats of tiny bell-like blossoms. Sawyer called them saguaros and told us they were the smartest plants alive. They stored water in their tall trunks, and when the wind blew them off-balance, they’d grow an appendage to straighten themselves out. We saw clever little birds living in holes they’d drilled in the meaty flesh of the giants. Sawyer said if you ever got lost in the desert, the liquid in the cactus’s skin could keep you alive.

After we climbed into the foothills, Sawyer consulted a hand-drawn map and then we found a trail, which led us up a steep incline. As the sun rode low in the west, we crested a peak and looked down at Diablo Springs. We were each silent as we viewed the lone street and the makeshift houses and tents sprawled haphazardly in the valley. From our vantage point, I could count five buildings, two on either side of the narrow roadway and the biggest on a rise at the end. It seemed that there were more people walking to and fro than there were residences to house them. The man Sawyer had beaten at cards had been right. Diablo Springs was growing like a weed.

“Ain’t as bad as the last place,” Chick said with a bright smile.

But it wasn’t as good as we’d hoped. Like the other mining town we’d visited, it appeared to be the kind of place where stagecoaches didn’t stop. Where men shot one another over cards and urinated in the streets. Where sheriffs were appointed because they were mean, not ethical. Where outlaws felt safe and honest men frightened. And where women were rarer than the ore that was mined. I couldn’t make out a single skirt moving in the streets. Perhaps the women were inside, avoiding the mud and filth.

What Sawyer thought of his new town, I didn’t know. His face remained closed as he stared at the dirty encampment.

He asked us to climb into the wagon so as not to start a riot when we got there. We jumped to obey. Only Athena could be seen at the reins as our wagon lumbered into town. Still, men stopped to watch us pass as they mingled in and out of the few establishments. From the back of the wagon, I saw the assayer’s office, a tent with the word
food
painted on the side, another space selling tools, and beside it, a general merchandise store.

A man was hocking the personal belongings of his partner, who’d been shot the night before, next to a carpenter hard at work on a coffin. Scattered on the hillside beyond we saw grave markers, several of them fresh. The young town was no stranger to death.

The street was muddy from horse urine and droppings, and the town stank as badly as the mining camp had two nights ago. I didn’t understand how people could live in such filth, but without women to guide them, I was beginning to think men reverted to bovine behaviors.

“Lord in heaven,” I heard Athena mutter.

A large, matronly woman stepped out from a tent and stared. Behind her was a table spread with bread and pies, and as we passed a whiff of something freshly baked overcame the less pleasant smells. Two men sat at a table inside, eating. I felt better knowing there was at least one other woman here, even though her eyes were cold. Another tent like we’d seen in the mining camp ran a boisterous business of selling liquor to intoxicated men. There were few places to sit and most stood shoulder to shoulder, lifting their glasses and watching us pass.

A young man raced out beside Sawyer’s horse and shouted to him, “Hey, you the Captain?”

Sawyer frowned. “Who wants to know?”

“Who wants to know?” the man yelled, walking beside him. “Hell, just everybody. We been waiting for you to get here and open the damn saloon.”

Laughter came from up and down the street, and Sawyer smiled back.

“Angus told us you’d be here a week ago.”

“Well, I’m here now.”

“And thank God in heaven. We’ve been drinking old Hank’s piss water. Angus promised the best liquor in the West, and then he never even poured a goddamned drink. How long until you open? I guarantee you’ll have a line awaitin’.”

“Hate to disappoint you, but there’s nothing to drink in there yet. It’s going to be a day or two before my first shipment of whiskey is in.”

That brought mixed reactions. Some of them cheered for the whiskey, others moaned for the delay.

“Which one of these places is it, anyway?” Sawyer asked.

The young man laughed and said, “Are you blind? It’s right there.”

From the shadowed interior I saw the stunned expression on Sawyer’s face, but I couldn’t see where the man pointed. Sawyer thanked him and continued down the street. He stopped his horse at a hitching post in front of a surprisingly tall building, and I understood his shock. It was the biggest building we’d seen from above. It was on a natural rise of sorts, and so it lorded over the other structures on the road, making it seem enormous. Additionally, it was two, possibly three stories high, and built of sturdy wood with a shingled roof. A sign hung over the door with brilliant red letters painted in the hollowed out channels: the diablo springs hotel and saloon.

Though it was nothing more than a wooden building in a town made of canvas and mud, it had a look of permanence about it that was somehow heartening. Steps led up to the railed wooden porch that stretched the length of the first floor. The door was locked tight, and the handles chained. Sawyer pulled a large key from his saddlebag and opened up. Only then did he gesture for us to come out. We were all acutely aware of the eyes that followed us as we emerged from the wagon and went inside. You could feel the excitement charge the street, and it frightened me. I had not forgotten the mob at the mining camp. Sawyer made a show of checking his rifle before carrying it in with him. I was glad of it.

Inside still smelled of freshly chopped wood. The ceiling and walls were rough paneled, but they were even and mounted with care, as if the builder had planned for it to last forever. The floors had the same rough look but compared to the mud, they seemed as beautiful as marble. A plain stair case hugged the wall to the right. Straight ahead was a wide open room with a handful of tables and a bar against the far side.

The bar had obviously been constructed by a person who loved his craft. We all moved to it, as if beckoned. The wood was rich, golden oak and it gleamed like glass. Ornate carvings marked the supports every few feet, and a brass boot rail shone bright as day. Behind the counter, a beveled mirror reflected the five of us standing with identical looks of wonder on our faces. Sawyer let out a low whistle as he surveyed the place.

“You didn’t expect this?” I said.

“Hell no. I was half convinced I was going to find a tent and a deck of cards and feel a fool for coming. I had no idea it would be like this. What kind of idiot gambles this away?”

He was so incredulous that I found myself viewing the place through his eyes. I didn’t know what a saloon should look like, but if the conditions outside were a measurement, the Diablo Springs Hotel and Saloon was opulent. And it belonged to the outlaw Sawyer McCready.