Jack felt like a crab, scuttling along after her and trying to make sense of her words. But she stopped when she reached the porch and spun around once more, the covered plate pulled tight against her chest with one hand, so the other could jab at the opening of his shirt once more.
“She. Loves. You. Jack. There. Is that clear enough?”
It wasn’t. “Why won’t you kiss me again, Tavie?”
The question had been on his mind since her first touch, and he felt the need to fluster her the way she was flustering him. But all she did was open her mouth and stare at him wide-eyed.
“I’ve been aching to taste you again, you know,” he began conversationally, as if they were simply two diners at the prince’s table. “I want to know—”
“What in the hell does that have to do with anything?” she all but growled.
He shrugged. “I’m just wondering. You seem to be worried about me, about my well-being, and I’m wondering—”
“Of course I worry, you idiot!” She didn’t bother lowering her voice. “I didn’t drag your sorry butt clear back from Aegiria just for you to get yourself killed here in Montana because you lack all restraint and can’t control yourself!”
Ouch.
Jack winced, hating to hear what she thought of him, but knowing it was accurate.
Tavie took a deep breath and shook her head. A calm seemed to settle over her, and she straightened her shoulders as she once more held the plate in both hands. “She loves you, Jack,” she repeated, though in a quieter tone.
She loves you.
Tavie was talking about Mother.
Wasn’t she?
“And—” He cleared his throat and tried again. “And you?”
Tavie’s eyes dropped to his side, where the shirt hid his healing wound. She shook her head slightly. “I won’t fall in love with someone who doesn’t care if he lives or dies, Jack,” she finally whispered.
When she turned and climbed the porch steps, he was left staring after her.
A slow smile tugged at his lips. As the door closed, he shook his head.
“You already have,” he whispered, “haven’t you?”
6
The problem with living with someone, was that when you were irritated, it was impossible to storm out on them. Which is why, less than ten minutes after her explosion out on the porch, Jack found her sitting at the kitchen table, her elbows planted on either side of the carefully stacked plate of shortbread cookies she’d intended to give to him in the garden.
She glanced up as he entered, then yanked her gaze away. He’d pulled his jacket back on, but his shirt was still unbuttoned at the neck, and his blond hair was wet, as if he’d dunked his head in the water bucket just outside the door.
Why did he have to look so good after pushing himself so hard out there?
Shoving another cookie in her mouth, she kept her eyes deliberately pointed at the plate in front of her.
“What are you doing?”
He didn’t seem inclined to let her wallow in peace, apparently. She gave him a few moments to take a hint and leave, but he didn’t. Eventually, she knew she had to swallow the cookie, or choke on it.
“I eat when I’m angry,” she snapped. “So I’m eating your cookies to forget how angry I am at—”
At you.
At me.
At fate, which pushed you away from your home and turned you into a shell.
Maybe he heard the unspoken words. Maybe he didn’t. Either way, he let several moments go by before he responded, and miracle of miracles, he seemed willing not to pursue the earlier topic.
“You made me cookies?” he asked in a small voice.
He sounded so hesitant, she couldn’t help looking up again. His hands slowly closed into fists by his side, but he wasn’t angry. No, it looked more like he felt awkward, unsure what to do with himself.
He was offering her an olive branch, she knew, so she took it.
“Yes,” she said simply. “You missed luncheon, and I thought you might be hungry.” She pushed the plate toward him and shrugged at the same time. “Besides, I think better when I’m baking.”
How was it possible for a man to move so gracefully?
The way he crossed the room and leaned down to pluck a shortbread from the tray, he might as well have been on a stage, dancing for royalty. Or a large cat, all sinews and languidness, stretched out on a branch, until his prey was silly enough to wander by.
Tavie realized she was staring and snapped her mouth shut.
“These are…” Jack’s eyes lit up as he spoke around a mouthful of cookie. “These are better than—” He finished chewing, swallowed, then tried again. “Tavie,” he began, waving the half-eaten cookie like an orator, “I’m not exaggerating when I say these are better than the baker’s in the Aegirian court. I’m going to have to take you with me when I return so Thordis can try some.”
Damn her treacherous flushes! Tavie didn’t want to be flattered by him, especially when he spoke of returning to Aegiria…but it was nice to be complimented.
Still, as she swallowed down her pleasure, she reminded herself she couldn’t afford to like him when he was determined to kill himself. She reached for another cookie. “Maybe you can ship him some,” she snapped.
He chuckled, and Tavie closed her eyes. The man had a beautiful chuckle, which was just unfair.
“So what were you thinking about?” he asked casually, reaching for the plate once more.
“What?”
“You said you thought better when you baked. So what were you thinking about?”
“Oh.” She pulled her shoulders back, reminded herself she was a strong, intelligent woman, and met his eyes. “I was thinking about King and the evidence.”
“And did you come to any conclusions?”
Taking a deep breath, she nodded. “I did.”
He moved faster than she expected, swooping in to snatch up the plate of cookies. “Then grab a plate and the round of cheese I know Mother has wrapped up over there, and meet me in the parlor.”
She was already on her feet. “What? Why?”
“Because,” he called back over his shoulder, already halfway across the room in that barely-coiled way of his, “I didn’t have luncheon, and I fully intend to pour myself some whiskey as you explain everything to me.”
And dammit, but as the door to the parlor swung closed behind him, Tavie felt a smile tug at her lips.
She couldn’t afford to like him, but it was too late now.
* * *
Jack placed the two glasses of whiskey on the small table beside the plate of cookies and threw himself down on the settee. He reached for a shortbread, just as she stepped into the room and eyed him sprawled so inelegantly.
He could swear her lips twitched.
Biting into the cookie, he managed to stifle his groan of appreciation. They really were remarkable, and he hadn’t been joking about Thordis loving them. If Jack ever made it back to Aegiria, he’d be damn sure to take some of them. Or even better, Tavie herself, to bake a fresh batch.
The idea of having Tavie back in Aegiria, with all the opulence of the royal court at his disposal, was almost as appealing as having her here, and wasn’t that disconcerting?
At what point had he given up on the plan of returning to the royal court?
Hmm.
She placed the block of cheese on the table and stepped back, rubbing her palms down her skirts.
Was she nervous? About him?
“Well?” he gestured with the cookie. “Get on with it.”
Little lines appeared between her eyes. “Get on with what?”
“Your deductions about King and this case. Wow me,” he commanded imperiously.
All at once, she seemed to lose the tension she’d been carrying. Her breath whooshed out of her as she rolled her eyes and planted her fists on her hips.
“You really are an ass, aren’t you?”
He grinned. “I really am.”
<
br /> She rolled her eyes again and turned to the window. Outside, patches of snow still remained on the frozen ground, and Jack guessed there’d be more before the month was out. For now though, the sun was shining and the air was clear.
Why in the hell is she so fascinated by it?
He was about to interrupt her thoughts, when she began to pace. Her hands were still on her hips, but no longer were they clenched into fists. Instead, her palms rested on the edge of her curves, where her back met her buttocks, and Jack slowly pulled himself upright, the cookie forgotten in his fingers.
He wanted to be the one to cup her curves.
That’s what he was thinking of when she finally spoke, and it took him a moment to switch gears.
“I keep thinking about how King got the deed to the Bicycle. That’s the key to this whole case, right?” She didn’t wait for his response, but continued to pace, her brown skirts swishing about her legs. “If he acquired it before your father died, then he might actually have a claim to the mine, depending on how he got it. That’s what we need the lawyers for. But what it…” She took a deep breath and shook her head, then turned to him. “The other option, is that he acquired the deed after Jim Hoyle’s death, right? And if that’s the case, then there’s no legal way for him to have a claim to the mine. If your father died with the deed still in his possession, then legally, it should pass to you.”
I don’t want it.
It was the argument he’d made before, had made for years. He wasn’t a miner, didn’t want to be a miner, the way his father and brother had been. He wanted nothing to do with the Bicycle Mine, especially now it was empty.
But the longer he stayed in Black Aces, the more he was reminded of how much at home he was here. He’d been gone long enough, no one remembered him or recognized him. But he remembered many of them, and he wanted their suffering to stop. He wanted to stop King’s reign of fear, but he also wanted to ensure the people of Black Aces would be happy again.
And that was worth taking control of the damn mine.
He cleared his throat and reached for the whiskey. “You mean, if he murdered my father.”
When she made a small noise, which might’ve been an agreement, his fingers tightened on the glass. He stared down into its amber depths and remembered the man his father had been fifteen years ago.
Brash, blunt. Lacking all sophistication and elegance. The opposite of who Jack had always wanted to be.
Oh hell, but I miss him.
Tilting his head back, he welcomed the way the whiskey burned his throat.
“If King killed your father to steal the deed, he broke the law,” Tavie reminded him, in a low voice. “We need to get Marshal Diamon involved.”
“No.” Damn, but his throat was still parched. “No.”
“You think the Black Ace can take care of this on his own?”
He couldn’t tell if her tone was mocking him, or exasperated with him. “I think we need more information,” he snapped. “We need to know what happened that night.”
“We don’t have any way of finding that out, unless King confesses,” she snapped in reply. Then, before his eyes, her expression changed from irritated, to thoughtful.
“And besides,” he added mulishly, “the Black Ace is doing well enough on his own.”
As she turned away again to start pacing, she scoffed quietly. “The Black Ace is a vigilante, who has no care for his own life. He allows himself to go off...somewhere, whenever he decides to fight, and becomes some sort of demon.” She shook her head with a sigh. “Before I arrived, the Ace had only killed a handful of men, and in each instance, it was likely self-defense. But now, King’s men have been whittled down to practically nothing over the last few months, and the Black Ace is leaving a trail of bodies behind.”
“They were all fair fights!”
This time, her expression was almost pitying as she turned to him.
Damn it.
“I know, Jack,” she said softly. “But you don’t just kill those men. You…kill them. Your use of a sword marks you as different.”
He bristled, twisting the glass between his palms. “So?”
She sighed again. “I don’t know. I’m just saying that, maybe letting the law take care of this, is the right thing.”
“Is that what you think?” he asked softly.
Tavie was the one to look away first. “I don’t…” She took a deep breath. “I quit the Agency to come here, Jack. I wanted to be with your mother because she needed me. But also because I wanted to see this through, and knew I couldn’t as a Pinkerton.”
“Why not?”
“Because Pinkertons are on the side of the law, and I don’t think…”
“This can be solved by the law?” he finished for her.
When she didn’t answer, didn’t meet his eyes, he stood up.
“This can be solved by me, Tavie.”
“As the Black Ace?”
“As Jack Hoyle.”
What the hell was he saying? That he was ready to reveal himself as someone besides the eastern investor? Or just that he was done being the Ace?
She was studying him as they stood on opposite sides of the parlor. After a long moment, her chin dropped in acknowledgment, but he wasn’t sure what she was acknowledging. His claim? Or his intent?
“I can help you,” she said softly.
All the fight drained out of him, and he sunk to the settee once more. “Tell me.”
She wiped her palms on her skirts. “King is down to only one gun, right? Stevens.”
“That’s what I’ve heard.” His eyes narrowed. “How do you know him? You recognized him right away today.”
She didn’t answer, but crossed to the small table and scooped up the other glass of whiskey. She stared at it for a moment, before taking a swig. “I recognized him—”
She bit off her words with a shudder, and he could imagine the way the alcohol stung on the way down. She took a deep breath.
“I know him, because I was the one who’d put him in prison,” she finished with a croak.
One of his brows rose, but to his surprise, he didn’t have any trouble believing her words. Of course someone as capable and slick as Tavie Smothers would be able to capture a man like the one he’d run into today.
“Will you tell me?” he asked.
Maybe it was his tone. Or the fact he wasn’t demanding. She sank into one of the chairs, her gaze on the glass in her hands. “It was five years ago, and he’d put together a gang down in Kansas. Small robberies mostly, but he was earning a reputation as a quick draw, and brutal to boot. We needed evidence, and we knew he had it in his room.”
How badly he wanted to prompt her! To ask her what happened. Instead though, he sipped at his whiskey and watched the way her throat worked as she tried to find the words.
“I’m good at becoming other people. Disguises. Very good, I guess.” Her eyes flashed his way, and they were now more brown than green. “And men will reveal all sorts of things to saloon girls.”
In his room.
Saloon girls.
A certainty began to form in the pit of Jack’s stomach, but he needed to be sure. “You mean whores.”
She closed her eyes on the word, but her chin jerked once. “Some women sleep with men for money.”
“But Pinkerton Agents do it for a nobler reason?”
The transformation was slow, but profound. Before his eyes, Tavie’s chin came up, her shoulders straightened, and her fingers tightened around her glass. When she met his eyes, hers were spitting defiance.
“Yes,” she said in a hoarse whisper. “Yes. I’m good at disguises, and I use that ability to get necessary evidence or information out of bad men.”
Why in the hell wasn’t this bothering him more than it was?
She admitted to sleeping with criminals in order to bring them to justice.
Which is more than you’ve ever done.
Ah, there it was.
He’d spent h
is entire worthless life running from responsibility, and not only had she embraced it, she’d chased it. She was willing to give up part of herself—to become someone else, as she put it—in order to bring criminals to justice.
What right did he have to judge that?
None. She was using her wits and her talents to punish evildoers, and he had to respect that.
It was why he’d come back to Black Aces. Here, he could use his talents to punish King for his actions.
So he lifted his glass in a salute and crossed one leg over the other as he leaned back. “So when you kissed me in Aegiria, it was to gain more information. You’ve admitted that, I believe, but I’m not a bad man, am I? No, wait, don’t answer that.” His lips twitched. “But despite how desperate I’ve been for you to kiss me again, you won’t. But now I find out you’ve been fu—”
“—being intimate with, thankyouverymuch,” she hurried to interrupt him.
His lips curled upward. “...being intimate with bad men. When poor little me has been pining away for a mere kiss from you.”
Her eyes narrowed as she watched him. Finally, she asked, “Why are you taking this so well?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. I really have been thinking about kissing you more than I should, you know. But…” He lifted the whiskey to his lips, then reconsidered. “You’re a strong woman, capable of making your own decisions and using your skills. If you saw the need to be intimate with the men you were hunting, then I can understand that. God knows I’ve used intimacies to get what I wanted at court.” He shook his head ruefully. “Besides, you nailed Stevens, didn’t you? And you convinced me to give up a life of luxury to travel half-way around the world to challenge a King in his castle.”
When she didn’t react to his pun, he shrugged and lowered the whiskey to the table once more. “But for the sake of my own ego, please don’t…you know.”
She frowned and placed her whiskey beside his. “Don’t what?”
Oh God, she was making this awkward.
“Don’t…” He ran his hand through his hair. “With King. You know. To get the information we need…”
To his surprise, she burst into laughter. “Oh my! No!” She shook her head and slouched back in the chair, her lips still pulled into a smile. “No, I hadn’t considered that. Although…”
Wild Card: Black Aces, Book Three Page 6
