He had brought her to this place, this need, but no matter how his body urged him to, he could not satisfy it.
Not now. He would not have her this way. Reluctantly he broke the kiss and gently took her hands in his.
• • •
No one ever mentioned how sensitive the skin on a wrist could be. Kara felt shivers dance along her nerves. She felt the heat of his breath as his lips trailed across her flesh. He had both of her hands held within his. Her body leapt to flames as his lips trailed up to the inside of her elbow.
“Hawke … ” She tried to gather her tattered senses about her, but finding it hard to form a thought. She was so distracted by his lips. “I don’t think … .”
“That’s right,” he whispered, his warm breath sending more chills skating over her body, “don’t think.” He raised his head and looked deeply into her eyes. She couldn’t tear her gaze away from those molten silver eyes, the intensity was almost hypnotic.
Her heart fluttered wildly. There was no one there to interrupt them. He leaned in to kiss. Excitement built in her. Kara wanted to feel his lips on hers. They captured hers, soft as a breeze, at first. It wasn’t enough. She wanted to feel more. His lips pressed more firmly; his tongue ran lightly over her lips and he reached up to cup her face with his hands, tipping her head to deepen the caress. He nibbled lightly on her lips, teasing them until they opened and his tongue slipped into her mouth.
The moist heat of his tongue shocked and thrilled her; the slow assault on her senses continued. A tremor of desire coursed through her, pooling low in her belly, taking her breath away. Cautiously, she began mimicking his motions and caressing his tongue with hers, moaning against his mouth.
Kara was on fire. The feel and taste of him consumed her. His lips and tongue teased her mouth, sending wave after wave of aching heat arcing through her. She never knew kissing could create such sensations, such need. She thought she’d melt, feeling his hand cup her breast. His thumb began to rub lightly over her already taut nipple. Her breast tightened as the heat of his large hand and the small movement of his thumb sent exquisite tingles to her thighs and a ticklish heat coiled low in her belly.
She moaned into his mouth, the need to get closer to him, to be surrounded by him, to have him ease the ache inside, was driving her on. Her hands slid up his chest, rubbing the hard muscles beneath his shirt, pleading silently for him to quench the flame he had ignited.
Kara laid her head against Hawke’s chest fighting to control her rioting senses. Her breathing was just beginning to slow, her heartbeat still thundering in her ears. She could hear the rapid pounding of his heart through the wall of warm firm muscle. Their hearts seemed to be pounding out the same rhythm. What he made her feel was beyond words, and she longed to feel it again. But she knew he was right, and realizing he was being strong enough for both of them made it a little easier. Shyly she scooted back and looked up at him. His eyes were soft and warm and a sad smile curved his lips. Oh those lips! She wanted to feel them on her mouth again. Realizing what she was doing, she pulled back, trying to corral her rioting senses.
“What happens now?” Her voice was husky with unspent need. “Where do we go from here? When you’ve taken care of this man who hurt your sister, then what? Do you return to England? Do you stay here?”
She stopped, realizing she sounded almost hysterical. This is not me! I am a strong, independent woman. She wasn’t about to become some clingy needy female, certainly not after only one kiss — even an earthshaking kiss like that — not ever. Standing she turned away from him.
“I don’t know, lass.” He stood behind her, placing his hands on her shoulders kneading them gently. “I won’t lie to you. You’ve been the most unexpected thing about this trip.”
He turned her to face him. “Lass you’re tryin’ my verra soul.” He looked down into eyes still glazed with desire. “I made a promise to your father, and much as I’d like to kick myself right now for giving it, I’m a man of my word.” Leaning forward, he kissed her furrowed brow. “Even though I regret it, I’m sending you to bed.” A wry smile caught his lips. “Alone.”
Chapter 16
Hawke and Alec left at sunrise, riding out of the valley, climbing towards the reddish hills where the town lay. The day warmed rapidly and the rolling grass fields changed to scrubby mesquite and small scraggly pine trees.
“Those rocky outcroppings remind me of India,” Alec remarked. When no answer was forthcoming, he looked over. Hawke seemed lost in a fog of his own thoughts.
“Thinking about Tompkins, or Kara?”
He was rewarded with a steely glare.
“You seem to be extremely attracted to Miss Jonston, or am I mistaken?”
“I’d rather not discuss it. Let’s decide how we are going to find Tompkins. Should we try to approach Tompkins at the mine, or see what we can find out in town first?”
“We should probably talk to his landlady first. Find out his schedule. Surprise would be the best way to gain the advantage.”
Cresting the hill overlooking the town they saw the Cedarvale Cemetery. Rough wooden rails surrounded the desolate graveyard. The wind blew softly among the gravestones and plain wooden crosses dotting the red earth. Here and there were signs of freshly tended graves, flowers left by mourners on newly turned earth, a quiet counterpoint to the town below.
Sprawled over hills and in small valleys, with one broad main street running through the wooden false front buildings White Oaks hummed with activity. Alec pointed out Baxter Mountain and the mine entrances. There were still tents along the hillside, but the majority of the town was neatly painted wood and brick buildings. There was a large red brick schoolhouse, two pristine white churches — all the trappings of civilization.
The wide main street was impressive, lined with wooden sidewalks and freshly painted hitching posts in front of the buildings.
They went to Mayers Livery Stable, where they boarded their horses. Grabbing the small carpetbags from the backs of their borrowed Western-style saddles, they walked across the street to the hotel. After checking in and washing the trail dust off, they headed up the street towards Mrs. Gallacher’s boarding house.
The house, sitting off the main street on a low hill, was painted a crisp white, with green trim, surrounded by a bright white picket fence. Everything about the house spoke of a fastidious owner. A small woman opened the door as they stepped up on the broad wraparound porch. Her ramrod straight back and stiffly starched apron only added to the impression of iron control.
Touching the brim of his hat in greeting, Hawke smiled at the woman.
“Mrs. Gallacher? My name is Hawke Pryce.” They had decided to forego their titles, to lessen the chance Tompkins might hear of their presence too soon. “I was wondering if my associate and I might have a moment of your time.”
“Scots, are ye?” A smile of warmth and welcome softened the hard lines of her face. “Come in, gentlemen and tell me what sad story has made you leave the homeland and come to our little town?” She stepped back from the door and motioned the men to enter.
Removing their hats, they followed her into a large parlor decorated in a soft green. The walls were papered in a floral stripe above a dark pine wainscoting. The camelback couches were ornate and tufted. Knickknacks abounded on every gleaming surface. An upright piano held a place of honor in the corner by the large window. After motioning for them to sit, she bustled off to the kitchen to prepare tea.
“There seems to be quite a few of us Scots out in the west,” she said, returning to the parlor with a tray loaded with a teapot, china cups, and refreshments. “No, no need to rise, gentlemen.” She set the tray on the table and began to pour. “I have had many boarders in the past who have come from all over Britain. ’Tis nice to have countrymen, as long as they’re civil and pay the rent on time. Now,” she looked up, brown eyes s
hining in her time worn face, “do you need to rent a room?”
Hawke smiled at the animated bird-like movements. It was like watching a sparrow flit around the way she fussed with the tea things and kept up a steady stream of chatter.
“Well, Mrs. Gallacher … .”
“You know my husband and I came from Edinburgh many, many years ago through New York. I lost him shortly after we arrived in White Oaks.”
“My sympathies,” Alec said, trying to keep track of her conversation.
“Yes.” A wistful look appeared on her face. “The finest day of my life was the day I put Mr. Gallacher in the ground.”
Hawke choked on his tea and Alec tried to stifle a laugh behind his napkin.
“After I lost Mr. Gallacher,” she continued, “I opened this boarding house. My son, William, is working on a sheep ranch I have purchased, and will be attending the college soon.” She fairly ruffled with pride. “He will be the first of our family to attend university.”
“Mrs. Gallacher.” Hawke interrupted politely. “We would like to ask you, if we might, about one of your boarders. Mr. Geoffrey Tompkins? We are trying to locate him regarding family business.” His fingers tightened around the delicate china cup.
“Ah,” her eyes flitted from one man to the other. “I know he was sent here in disgrace. He was a very bitter and unhappy young man when he arrived.”
She picked up the tea pot and refilled their cups. “He said little about why he had been sent away, just that he had been treated unfairly. I thought he was going to end up like so many we see through here.” She shook her head sadly. “Nice young men with no direction, who become nothing but lazy drunkards or gamblers … but not Mr. Tompkins. No, he said he was going to prove to everyone back home he wasn’t the worthless scoundrel they had accused him of being.”
Waving her hand dismissively, she added, “He has been a perfect tenant, always on time with his rent, unfailingly polite and clean in his habits. Whatever your argument with him, it is yours and not mine to know.”
“Would you happen to know when he is due home from work?” Alec leaned forward in anticipation.
“I think you gentlemen should inquire at the Old Abe Mine if you want to know more.” Mrs. Gallacher rose, her friendly air gone. “If you will excuse me, I have to begin preparing dinner for my tenants.” Indicating the door, she nodded her head. “Gentlemen. Good-day.”
“What do you think?” Hawke asked as the door closed firmly behind them.
“After my head stopped spinning from the different directions she flitted?” Alec smiled. He looked out at the street, then back. “It appears Tompkins is trying to convince people here he is a stalwart, sober fellow.” Alec stepped off the porch, put his hat on, and headed for the gate. “Our next stop should be the mine to speak with his supervisor.”
They retrieved their horses and after getting directions, set off for the mines.
The Old Abe was one of many gold mines surrounding the town, but was by far the largest and boasted one of the deepest dry mine shafts in the world.
“Did you try to contact Mr. Hewitt or any of the other owners of the Old Abe again?” Hawke asked.
“I thought they already turned you down.” Alec replied. “However, if you think they might be interested, I can certainly try again. If you sense a profit to be made, then I want to be in on the deal.”
“Gold mining is not always a sound purchase … but,” He looked at the hills around them. “With what has been coming out of these mines, I think it’s worth another look.”
The skeletal frame of the hoist house, where the men were lowered into the shaft and the ore was lifted out, was the first thing they saw. At the base of the hill was a small wooden building where they were directed to the mine supervisor.
They entered the small building, a shack. Alec noted the one room had a few desks covered with papers and tally books being filled out by clerks. An older man, his coat off and shirtsleeves rolled up in the warmth of the room looked up at the two men filling the doorway.
“Excuse me.” Hawke touched his finger to the brim of his hat. “I would like to speak to the mine supervisor if I might?”
“That’d be me.” The man stepped forward extending his hand, “Name’s Frank White. What can I do for you gentlemen?”
“We are trying to locate one of your workers, a Geoffrey Tompkins. We need to discuss some family business if you can direct us to him.”
“Family, huh?” White looked them over, eyes narrowed.
Alec stepped forward. “Could you direct us to him?”
“Sure.” The man laughed. “Just go to the top of the hoist house and tell them to drop you to the twelve-hundred foot depth, and there you’ll find him working the shaft.”
He turned them towards the door, still chuckling.
“If you want to talk to Tompkins, I suggest you wait until he’s done with his shift. He should be climbing out of the mine about ten-thirty tonight. After he cleans up, I imagine you’ll find him at Madame Varnish’s Little Casino in Hogtown. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do. Good-day.”
The click of the door informed them no further questions would be welcome.
“Well, it looks like we will be spending the evening in Madame Varnish’s.” Hawke said. “I don’t suppose you happened to visit that establishment on your last visit?”
“Are you implying I was derelict in my duty and would while away time in such an establishment?”
“Alec, my friend, have you ever considered pursuing a life in the theater?”
“What? And give up being a man of leisure. I think not!”
• • •
After a relaxed dinner in the hotel dining room, they strolled over to Hogtown where the casinos and the majority of the saloons were located.
They entered Madame Varnish’s through thick carved wooden doors reminiscent of the gambling hells of London. A thick pall of cigar and cigarette smoke lay over the room. A long, carved mahogany bar dominated one wall; fluted columns flanked the large mirror behind the bar, the dark wood gleaming in the light of gas lamps. A variety of bottles of every shape and color sat on the counter behind the bartender, and several beer taps stood along the bar.
Three large crystal chandeliers were casting rainbows on the ceiling. Large windows covered with rich red velvet curtains, added to the illusion of luxury. Green, baize-covered tables were everywhere.
Hawke was impressed with the variety of the games of chance offered. Wandering between the tables, serving drinks and entertaining the gamblers, were several scantily clad women.
Walking up to the bar, Hawke saw one of the women staring intently at Alec and him, mouth open. Her tousled hair loosely knotted on the top of her head was an unnatural shade of yellow, and her eyelids were garishly painted and outlined with heavy kohl. Ordering whiskey, he turned, trying to ignore the woman.
In the mirror, he watched as her eyes roamed greedily over them. He had seen the predatory gleam in her hard eyes as she began moving towards him. He’d seen many women like her before, in many different parts of the world. Whores, who thought their worn-out overblown charms were worth more than a man’s pity. Any beauty she might once have possessed had long since fled from too much alcohol. Not like the firm flesh he had felt in his arms last night. Reining in the stray thought, he looked towards Alec, hoping to discourage the woman’s advance. He could see from the amusement in his friend’s eyes that his luck was about to run out.
“Hey, mister,” the woman licked her crimson painted lips. “Would you like some company, maybe someone to share a drink with?”
He winced; her voice was flat and deep, almost masculine.
“Maybe you’d like some company, being a stranger in town.” She tried again to get his attention.
He shuddered; her voice ra
ked his nerves like nails drawn across a chalkboard.
“Yep, mister, why not take ole’ Mona up on her offer,” a small man at the end of the bar piped up. A lopsided grin crossed his face. “That’s our Mona — the village bicycle.” He laughed, raising his beer. “Know why we call her that, mister?” Not waiting for a reply, he continued, enjoying the woman’s growing aggravation. “We call her that, cuz everyone’s had a ride.” Laughing harder, the man slammed his hand down on the countertop. Others, overhearing him, joined in the laughter.
“Mark Jenkins, why don’t you just shut your mouth, before I tell your wife where all your pay goes.” She cleared her throat, patted her hair, and turned again to Hawke. “Don’t listen to him, mister, he don’t know what he’s talking about.” She tried unsuccessfully for an innocent expression. “I ain’t that kind of woman.”
He saw Alec turn his head to hide a grimace.
“Of course you are,” the small man replied coldly, “shit, Mona, everyone in town knows what a whore you are. Ain’t met a pair of pants you wouldn’t crawl into for the right amount of change.” He snickered viciously. The woman turned from the bar, charging over and slapping him soundly before running from the room.
“Care to join in a hand, gents?” A dark-haired man gestured to empty chairs at the poker table. His black vest was shot with silver threads, and a large diamond winked among the folds of his cravat. The shirtsleeves on his fine, frilled, white shirt held up with black satin garters declared him a professional gambler.
“James Gray.” He held out his hand to the men, an easy grin showed under a thick handlebar mustache. “I would guess by the cut of your jackets.” He gave them both an assessing gaze. “You gents aren’t from around here.”
Introducing themselves, they sat at the table.
Diane R. Jewkes Page 11
